


Because When You Remember

by strawnilla



Category: Danball Senki, Danball Senki WARS - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Drama, Fluff, Future Fic, Grown ups, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Music, Post-Canon, Relationship Growth, in which the special episode where arata comes back to meet ban does not happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawnilla/pseuds/strawnilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>"People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘Take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘Hurry back,’ or even ‘Watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."—The Curious Savage (John Patrick)</p>
</blockquote><p>
When Arata left, he knew it won't be the same. When Arata stopped contacting them, he knew he wanted answers. But when he finds Arata again, he is living a life that Hikaru begrudgingly admits is a happy one, with no memories of Kamui Island or LBXs inside the redhead's mind.</p>
<p>
What now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy arahika day!! :9 i'll be honest im actually not done with this fanfic yet (OIKAWA POSE) but it is arahika day and im not waiting another year to post this
> 
> special thanks to everyone who helped with the makings of this fic!! aka reading the first drafts and telling me what you guys thought of it and giving me advice
> 
> also find me on my writing blog right over [here](http://strawnilla.co.vu/). when i complete posting all the chapters here on AO3 and FFN, i'll finally post the entirety of this fanfic on my tumblr _and_ i'll publish the fanmix i made for this fic on 8tracks too
> 
> sometimes you just gotta take matters into your own hands whoops
> 
> please enjoy!!

_Night after night, I hear myself say, why can’t this feeling just fade away?  
_ —If I Let You Go, Westlife—

* * *

 

When he opens the door, the first thing he notices is how cold it is. The second is the darkness—which quickly disappears with the flick of a switch. And the third, a strange lump of blue on his bed. His eyebrows rise as he walks over, picking up said garment from his pillow.

His blue eyes widen at the sight, stifling a gasp. Why is this here? Arata couldn’t have forgotten it. Or did he leave it on purpose? No, that shouldn’t be right. He can’t help but to stare at the clothing in his hand, the jacket Arata always wore under his uniform; the uniform of the academy he recently left.

Staring out the dark window, he can’t resist feeling an emotion he hadn’t felt ever since entering Kamui Daimon Comprehensive Academy.

He feels lonely.

* * *

 

The next morning comes and he crawls out of bed, yawning and stretching, his hair a mess. He is about to wake the person sleeping in the other bed—when he remembers that there is no one sleeping in the other bed. His mouth curves into a frown and he gets ready for school with a sigh.

Just as he steps out the door, clad in his navy blue blazer and yellow tie, the boy shivers noticeably. It’s cold—colder than usual this morning. Is this normal weather or is it just him? His eyes trail back to the blue jacket he had folded neatly and placed on the unoccupied bed last night.

… It can’t hurt anyone.

* * *

 

For an odd reason the walk to school is dreadful, and he would rather go back to the Duck Manor and sleep the rest of the day away. But he knows Haruki wouldn’t let him without a good reason and so he toughens up and climbs the hill—not noticing how heavy his breathing is or his sluggish steps.

By the time he reaches classroom 2-5 and slides the door open, Haruki is over him in two seconds flat. “You missed breakfast today and you’re later than usual. Are you alright?” he goes straight to the point, his brow furrowing—apparently a look that never leaves him, the blond concludes.

He awaits a comment regarding his attire for the day and replies, “I’m fine.” But by now he isn’t so sure himself. Is he fine? He knows he’s fine. But in the same time it’s like he’s been knocked out for two weeks. He tries to walk past the platoon captain so he can sit down already but someone stops him by his shoulder. A hand rests on his forehead and he’s not sure whose it is. He can see a tinge of brown mixed with black. Screw that—he can’t see anything now.

Only when he closed them he realizes his eyes are burning and it’s still cold even with Arata’s jacket under his blazer. Something hits his knees and it’s like he’s hanging from the edge of a tree branch. He hears familiar voices call out his name—some calmly and some frantically. But he waits for one voice, for one voice to call him. He doesn’t hear it.

“ _Ara… ta…_ ”

* * *

 

An all too familiar ceiling greets him when he forces his eyes open. He grunts and moans, pain shooting through him as he struggles to sit up. His hand holds his throbbing head and he panics as he realizes the jacket and his blazer are not on him. He calms when he sees said garments in the basin by the foot of the bed.

“You’ve got it bad this time. Higher than what should be normal,” the commander of Harness slash school doctor says, turning her chair towards him. “You should go back to sleep—unless you’re hungry. You can eat the food your friends brought for you,” she says, pointing towards the bento box on the tray beside his bed. “There’re painkillers too, if you want them.”

He nods his head and she gets up, rummaging through the cupboard. The last time he had a fever, Arata offered to send him to the infirmary—which he rejected rudely. The rest of the day didn’t exactly go in his favour, but he learnt a precious lesson that he’s not going to forget anytime soon. If Arata hadn’t entered the school, he’s sure a lot of things would’ve gone differently. Perhaps they would still be under Seledy’s command…

“Pardon the intrusion,” a voice says as the door opens. It’s Muraku, with Haruki and Sakuya behind him. Funny, he experiences an odd feeling of déjà vu. Higurashi-sensei lets them in. “You guys have nice timing. I have to meet with Mito-sensei after this—you can keep him company while I’m gone,” she says. She places a cup of water on the tray and a packet of what he assumes is painkillers.

“We understand.” Haruki replies for the trio and she nods, disappearing through the door. A yawn comes out of him and he tries to sit properly to eat. The others crowd at the edge of his bed. “How are you feeling?” Muraku asks, to which he’s tempted to reply with, ‘Like shit.’

“Horrible.” He says instead for the sake of good manners and reaches out for the bento, which Muraku quickly takes and hands it to him. “Thanks.” He opens the box and he sees onigiri. He stares at the balls of rice before he takes one and slowly begins chewing. For one reason or another, his eyes water a little and he blinks them away quickly.

“Why did you still come to school?” Haruki asks. “If you felt sick you should’ve just stayed in bed.”

“I felt fine, that’s why I came.”

Silence lands between the four teenagers as he eats, until Sakuya takes notice of the blue jacket. His eyes blink before he lifts it up. “Isn’t this Arata’s?” he asks, turning his gaze back to him. A look of surprise appears on Muraku’s and Haruki’s face and they too stare at him.

He struggles to answer without choking. “I found it on his bed last night. I guess he forgot. It was feeling cold today so I thought I could borrow it,” he lies, only a little bit. He still doesn’t understand why Arata left it on _his_ bed. Not the redhead’s bed, but _his_ bed.

Maybe one day, when they meet again, he can ask.

Haruki and Sakuya exchange glances and Muraku closes his eyes, arms crossed. It honestly feels strange in the infirmary, he knows it and he’s sure the others know it too. As he ponders on his thoughts while eating, he slowly comes to realize why it feels different.

Perhaps the reason why it’s cold today is because the red Sun between all of them is gone.

* * *

 

It took a while for him to recover; it took longer for him to finally get used to the missing warmth. It was the same for the rest of his friends, but they managed and graduated from the school without further life-threatening incidents.

And here he is, on a boat with most others, returning to the mainland after all these years. He looks down at the envelope in his hand and he frowns. It was the last letter Arata sent Jenock, before he stopped writing abruptly when they were in their middle school third year—nearing junior high graduation. Not even text or calls were answered after that. It still disturbs him, despite what others say. They promised to keep in touch, after all. Why did Arata break it?

“Still thinking over him?” a voice says from behind and he recognizes it as Haruki. “How can I not?” he replies, as the black haired teen leans on the rails next to him. “Something tells me you’re going after him once we hit land.” He says, untying and retying his long hair. He didn’t have it cut or trimmed for a long time now—and it is a good look on Haruki, he has to admit. A bit on the wild side like the other’s preferred LBX type.

He himself wasn’t any different. Other than his bangs, he didn’t cut or trim, letting his blond hair stay in a very long ponytail. He’s considering cutting it when he gets home. Considering. It does get troublesome sometimes, so he wouldn’t really mind. Maybe miss having it. He’s not so sure.

Keeping the envelope his classmates were kind enough to let him own safe into his bag, he laughs a little at the other male’s assumption. “Not _immediately_.” He stresses. He needs to see his parents first, of course. And then maybe rest for a couple of days, laze around, read books. After that, maybe, he’ll finally stomp up the Sena family’s home and demand for the redhead.

There’s a smirk on Haruki’s face. “You’re not one for cliffhangers, are you?”

“I’m not one for unanswered questions, and this is one question that’s been bothering me for years.”

“I can relate. If you need any help, the others and I are willing to lend a hand.”

“Like I didn’t know that.”

What awaits them at the port is an unexpected welcome back crew, hosted by the ex-members of Jenock. Catherine is the loudest, greeting them before the boat even docked properly.

“I flew all the way from Country A just to see you guys!” She exclaims with a big smile, running up to Yuno and Kiyoka. She crushes them in a tight hug and Hanako follows behind her calmly, giggling at their antics.

Gendou is here too and he extends a hand for Haruki to shake. “It’s nice to see you again.” He says with a smile. “The pleasure is mutual.” Haruki replies, smiling as well.

Some of them begin to tear up and some of them are laughing. Remarkably, even Kaito is here too—and the previous members of his platoon are gathered around him, all four of them choking back sobs. It looks like not even Nozomi expected to see Kaito.

“How did you guys know we’re coming back today?” the blond asks with curious eyes.

Rikuya is the first to reply to him. “Jin-san told us. He informed us of your graduation day and decided to host a welcome back party. He’s supposed to be here right now but it seems he’s running late…” the redhead explains, looking at his watch and then at the streets. He seems more laidback now, in his casual clothes. Not so uptight like he was years ago.

Speak of the Emperor, Jin arrives not long after in a car and the graduates beam at the sight of him. He steps out, a nice smile on his face and waves at them. “Sorry for the delay. I got stuck in traffic.” He explains and some of them laugh.

But when Mito Reina climbs out the car too, most of them shout in excitement and run towards her. The girls squeal and the boys gape at the wedding ring she’s wearing. They almost crush her with questions, per se.

It’s all a good reunion and Jin invites them over to a café run by his friend—Blue Cat’s Coffee or something, the blond didn’t quite catch the name—and they’re all in on it. The blond calls his parents to tell them, and they’re fine with it so he goes as well, despite the nagging feeling that something isn’t right.

The café isn’t crowded as he expected, and the décor is welcoming. There’s a retro feel to it, but not as retro as the Shopping District. More like jazz and soul. A burly man in a red vest greets Jin from behind the counter and they exchange words before he introduces himself as Gouda Hanzou—not like most of them hadn’t recognized him already.

“Oh man, Hinako’s going to be so jealous when she finds out about this.” Catherine pipes up with a mischievous smile, to which he and the others can’t help but to smile at. He, Muraku, Rikuya, Yuno and Catherine sit together around a table—it’s almost like they had agreed silently to talk and catch up on things. Haruki, Sakuya, Rinko, Gendou and the rest all sit on different tables in random groups. The café is empty except for the graduates and a few customers who were already dining here before they came.

“You’re still in contact with her?” Yuno asks, looking at Catherine with a face of curiosity.

He places his bag by his feet, not exactly listening to their conversation.

“Of course! We still owe each other a lot of LBX battles.” Catherine says, almost as if she’s in disbelief at her friend’s words.

“That’s only because those battles keep ending in a tie.” Rikuya comments, an amused smile on his face. Catherine looks embarrassed now and she’s about to land a punch on Rikuya’s shoulder as he’s laughing when Jin interrupts her by sitting with them next to Muraku.

“You two keep bothering about my love life,” the man starts, “shouldn’t you two be more concerned about each other?” There’s a smirk on his face now, something the blond thought he’d never see.

He coughs into his hand; it doesn’t do much but at least it stops him from uncontrollably laughing his guts out. The sight of Catherine’s and Rikuya’s red faces as they deny any sort of romantic feelings towards each other isn’t helping. Everyone else seems to be holding back laughter, if Muraku’s twitching lips is any indication.

Things calm down as the group finally cease their giggles and Gouda serves them their drinks accompanied by some snacks they definitely didn’t order. On the house, he says, much to their delight.

As Catherine eats a macaroon, her face contorts into an expression that says she realized something. “Ne, Jin-san, did you really invite everyone who was in class 2-5?” she asks, looking at him.

The man nods his head with a furrowed brow. “Yes. Why are you asking?”

“I don’t see Arata.”

Everyone falls into silence and stop their movements, except for Jin and Rikuya, who gasp instead. The young Hoshihara wants to hammer his head with his fists. So this is the reason for the nagging feeling. A Jenock reunion without Sena Arata, of course it would feel weird. What an idiot he is for forgetting! The mood must’ve carried him away.

All eyes turn towards Jin, who takes a deep breath and sighs. Rikuya fiddles with his fingers before he looks up. “I guess it really was futile to hope that none of you would notice.” He says with a small smile on his face. Yuno looks unnerved. Muraku looks calm but the blond is sure even he’s twitching inside from agitation. He can say the same for himself; if he isn’t too busy focusing on Jin.

“What happened?” he asks with eyes narrowed. Jin’s and Rikuya’s nervous faces are only sending him awry vibes. It can’t be good news. The atmosphere around the table is gloomy and Jin tries to speak but Rikuya stops him.

“I’ll tell them.” He quickly says, to which Jin nods.

“Back when all of us were still in middle school,” the redhead starts, “Arata-kun agreed to help NICS in their experiments. I was scouted into NICS as a trainee, so we met each other a lot. However, the two of us agreed to a contract to never tell anyone except close family members about our connection with NICS.”

The blond grips his fists. That would explain why Arata never said anything about affiliations with the big company in his letters.

“Professor Mito, Yamano Ban, Kazama Kirito and Jin-san were involved directly with Arata-kun’s experiments. NICS wanted to see how far the Overload can go without hurting him too much, and the higher-ups knew the best people for that would be those four. If Arata-kun was left in the hands of any other scientist, I don’t know what could’ve happened to him.”

He spares a glance towards Jin, and the blond sees him gripping his right arm tightly.

“He was happy with how things were going in his life, I’m sure of it, and the experiments were always successful. But then, a year later in our third year of middle school… an incident happened.”

The unexplained halt of letters and unanswered calls suddenly made sense.

“I’ll take it from here, Rikuya.” Jin says, to which the younger male nods.

“There was an explosion in the lab where we were and the control pod occupied by Arata at the time was separated from its base due to the shockwave,” Jin says in one breath, eyeing their faces. “It was confirmed to have been an attack. The five of us barely managed to escape the rubble and flames but Arata was put in a state of coma. His parents demanded to end his contract with NICS. After that, they took Arata away while he was still comatose and we lost all connection to the Sena family.”

“Their actions were understandable. They must have feared for Arata-kun’s life. Even when he agreed to help NICS, they were quite hesitant and tried to talk him out of it,” Rikuya says with a solemn expression. “We don’t even know if he woke up from his coma.”

“Didn’t you guys at least _tried_ to regain contact?” Yuno asks with her eyes wide. The blond can barely hear her however. His fists are tightly gripped on his knees, turning his knuckles white. His gaze stays on the table as he tries to comprehend the story.

Explosion? Experiments? Coma? What…?

Rikuya’s reply to the girl’s question almost went past him. “Best to leave him alone,” he hears, “his parents wouldn’t be happy to see faces from NICS again…”

“And the attack? Was the culprit caught?” a deep voice asks. Typical of Muraku, the blond thinks to himself. If it wasn’t Muraku, it’d be Haruki. Their leadership habits don’t look like they’re leaving anytime soon. Old habits die hard.

He stands up and excuses himself to the toilet, not even caring about the details of the attack even though he feels like he should. It was the cause of Arata’s injuries, after all. But he can’t bring himself to sit at the table any longer—not when he’s suffocating. Splashing water onto his face, hoping it can cool him down, the young man stares at his own reflection in the mirror. His features harden as he grips the sink and grits his teeth.

His stubbornness dies hard too.

* * *

 

If Arata’s family moved, that means going to the address on the letters wouldn’t cut it. He needs to use more than one method of search. It’s not going to be as easy as visiting the Lost and Found box, that’s for sure.

“Are you really going to look for him?” Muraku asks as they walk out the café’s door. His eyebrows are a little lifted and he speaks softly. “Even after knowing the reason he stopped contacting us?”

“I want to see him more now that I do know the reason.” He replies, sending the black haired male a peeved glance.

The other sighs. “I guess there’s really no changing your mind.”

“Quit trying to stop me. I know you want to meet him too.”

“I do. But maybe… never mind,” Muraku stops himself before he can finish his sentence and shakes his head.

Everyone else is saying their goodbyes and taking their separate ways. Though he’s curious about what Muraku wanted to say, he lets it go. The black haired male holds out a hand to him. He takes it. “Good luck,” are the words that come out of Muraku’s mouth, accompanied by one smile.

The blond returns the smile and says, “I’ll definitely find him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘Take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘Hurry back,’ or even ‘Watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."—The Curious Savage (John Patrick)
> 
> When Arata left, he knew it won't be the same. When Arata stopped contacting them, he knew he wanted answers. But when he finds Arata again, he is living a life that Hikaru begrudgingly admits is a happy one, with no memories of Kamui Island or LBXs inside the redhead's mind.
> 
> What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the support everyone!! i decided to update earlier because i realized five chapters just wont cut it
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy this next chapter too :9

He looks around, eyeing each nook and cranny one by one. He drops to his arms and knees with a flashlight and his eyes scan the untouched area beneath the sofa. Satisfied with finding nothing but dust bunnies, he stands up and makes way to the bathroom. Nothing of his interest too. But when he visits the kitchenette, he frowns at the size of the trash that he has collected in the plastic bag he left by the corner.

Most of the trash consists of the instant noodle cups he’s been living on.

He sighs and moves back to the living room after making a cup of tea. At least he’s got everything packed. He pushes away a box to the side to sit on the sofa when his CCM rings from the coffee table. He gives the ID a quick glance before answering with a flat tone.

“Hoshihara speaking.”

 _“Are the preparations for the move okay?”_ the man on the other side of the line asks, as if they were long-term buddies.

He didn’t change his tone of voice. “I’m done packing.”

 _“Great,”_ the blond can almost see the man nodding, _“We at Cyber Lance will see you in a week’s time. "Till then,”_ and the call ended.

He stares at the blank screen of his CCM, taking note of the time and date, before putting it aside with his tea. He takes his tablet and begins to browse through some folders and documents he supposes was important up until now.

With one click he deletes the entire data on his two-year search for Sena Arata.

Just then his CCM rings again, and he grumbles while picking it up, before going silent for a while at the caller ID. He answers and says not as flatly as before, “Hello, Haruki.”

 _“It’s been a while,”_ the other end replies. The blond man can almost hear the smile. _“How are you?”_

He stands up and moves to the balcony of his tiny apartment out of habit with his tea in hand. The sky doesn’t look like a healthy colour but it matches the upcoming cold season. There are still bits of orange and red leaves here and there though. He wonders shortly if it will snow in Tokio City.

“I’m good as always. How are you holding up in college?”

 _“Is that a serious question?”_ Haruki retorts with a laugh. _“College’s been fun. It has its ups and downs, but what doesn’t?”_ There’s a small pause before he continues with a smaller and harder voice. _“What about your search…? Is there any progress?”_

He sighs loudly and that’s enough for Haruki to get the message. “I’m back to square one.” He says honestly, realizing that he is slowly losing hope in ever finding the redhead again.

_“I see… What are you going to do then?”_

“Move to Tokio City, work under Cyber Lance as their celeb test player, and—” he was saying things in a joking or lazy manner but is surprised when Haruki cuts him off in a more surprised manner.

_“Tokio City? You’ll be here?”_

Ah, that’s right. How did he forget that Haruki’s college is in the city? He feels like slapping himself in embarrassment. Now Haruki will think he purposely didn’t tell him. He makes a mental note to preserve whatever social connections he has left properly.

“Yeah, apparently. I forgot you’re living there, sorry.”

There’s a chuckle from Haruki and he lets go the breath he’s been holding. _“That’s okay. It’s great you’re moving here. Where are you staying?”_ the man asks.

“Ah, that’s still a problem. I need to be there in a week and I haven’t found a place to stay yet. I’m in quite a pickle here.”

_“Is that so? I happen to know a few places that want tenants as soon as possible. I can send you their contact information.”_

“…That’d be great. Thank you.”

* * *

 

The old lady in front walks quickly and he makes an effort to keep up with his messenger bag dragging him down. She told him to refer to her as ‘Baa-chan’, as the rest of the apartment block’s residents call her that. She has amazing energy, in his opinion, despite her age and hunched back.

Talkative too—where he tunes out most of her words.

It’s not a big block, only three storeys high. But it’s comfortable and up-to-date. She rambles on a lot of things, most of them he doesn’t hear because he’s not paying full attention.

He’ll have a flatmate. Since each quarter has two rooms, they’ll be sleeping separately, obviously. The rent he has to pay is considerably low for an apartment equipped with furniture, one where he took on such a short notice. It must be because he’ll be sharing it with a stranger. He didn’t mind company however he did prefer to be alone.

But he’ll be alright.

The old woman stops by a door he takes will be the place he’ll stay in for who knows how long this time around. She takes out a key—similar to the one he was given earlier—and as simple as that opens the door without knocking.

Well, now he knows who the boss around here is.

“Arata-kun! Are you here?!” She calls out in a loud voice like she does this all the time, much to his surprise.

“Sorry about that,” she says over her shoulder, “it’s just that he sometimes gets lost in his own world with that headset and guitar of his. You gotta yell his name before he finally hears you.”

He nods, understanding. So this person is named Arata, huh? He’s met too many Aratas in these past two years. What are the chances that the Sena Arata he’s looking for—

“Baa-chan, how many times do I have to tell you not to barge in?” footsteps approach and indigo eyes widen with a small pause. _“And why do you have a woman with you?!”_

—would appear right in front of him in nothing but a towel over his lower parts, his hair wet and all.

“How rude!” the old lady scolds and slaps the redhead on his arm. “This is your new flatmate. Be nice to him. And get some clothes on, sheesh.” She says with a huff. “Eh—wait, that’s a guy?!” is the response from ‘Arata’.

He should feel offended, and he does a tiny little bit inside, but the person that _literally_ popped right before him is of more importance. The eyes, the hair and the voice… it’s all the same. That or he’s going crazy. Yes, that must be it.

He’s going crazy.

Arata would definitely recognize him and know he’s a guy, right? Or has he changed way too much in these past few years to the point only family and close friends would recognize him in the streets? Impossible.

Baa-chan leaves them, closing the door after a hasty goodbye and a reminder to lock the door. Gripping his bag, he introduces himself and hopes— _hopes_ , despite this nagging feeling—that his name would result in some form of reaction from the redhead. They stare at each other, indigo eyes against blue, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting.

“Hoshihara, huh? I’m Sena Arata, although the old lady might’ve already told you that… and sorry for calling you a woman earlier.” A sheepish grin spreads across his face that takes the blond back to when he was a young teenager setting foot on Kamui Island, oblivious to the adventure he would undertake with his soon-to-be friends.

However the flashback dissolves into the hurt he feels. He wants to say that he’d prefer to go by his first name but holds his tongue.

“Your room is over there,” Arata points towards a door and then to another room beside it, “and that one’s mine. Is that all your stuff?” he refers to the blond’s bag. “That’s a lot less than I expected.”

He almost forgets he has a mouth. “There’s still more downstairs.” He says.

“Oh, do you need my help?”

He wants to accept the offer but he shakes his head instead. “Thank you, but I already have someone helping me.” He struggles to say. He places his bag on the kitchenette counter and turns for the door before Arata can say anything more.

* * *

 

“Whoa, are you okay?” is the first thing that comes out of Haruki’s mouth the moment he emerges from the apartment block’s compound. He’s leaning against his car but stands upright at the sight of him, concern on his face.

“You’re pale.” He comments.

“I’m fine.” The blond chokes out, which he’s sure means _‘I’m not fine’_ to Haruki. The black haired man holds him by his shoulders. “Are you catching a fever?” he continues, placing a hand on his forehead. “Fevers love you, after all.” He teases with a small smile, which the blond can’t deny because he _is_ prone to fevers.

He shakes his head to answer the man’s question. How’s he going to explain to Haruki that his flatmate might be the Sena Arata of Jenock’s first platoon and might also _not_ be Sena Arata of Jenock’s first platoon?

Something wet comes down his cheeks causing the two men to gasp.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Haruki says with his voice sterner. The blond wipes his face with his sleeves. This is embarrassing, crying out of the blue and in front of Haruki too. “Can we sit in your car first?” he requests.

They do, with him claiming shotgun and Haruki in the driver’s seat. The atmosphere is quiet, Haruki with his arms crossed and eyes on the blond.

He hides his face in his hands and sighs deeply before saying, “My new flatmate is Arata.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s Arata. I’m sure it’s him. But he… he treated me like a stranger, like it’s our first time meeting,” the blond sighs again, pulling on his bangs slightly. “I think I’m going crazy. He didn’t act like this the first time we met on the island.”

“He treats you like a stranger… Maybe he couldn’t recognize you because of your hair?”

“I doubt it—I introduced myself to him and he called me by my surname.”

“Oh.” Haruki’s brow furrows. He can tell that the black haired man has no idea what’s going on either.

“The only explanation I can think of is that I’m going crazy. I must be. I’ve been looking for him for two years, and just when I’m about to give up I meet someone who is so much like him physically who also shares his name. This has to be a sick joke. I…” he rambles on but is stopped by Haruki.

“Calm down. There has to be a logical explanation to this or a mistake maybe. And you’re _not_ going crazy,” Haruki opens the car door and steps out. “Come on. Let me see this Arata with my own eyes.”

* * *

 

He carries his heavy bag of clothes while Haruki carries his two boxes. That’s all of his possessions. The blond opens the door, not surprised it’s unlocked, and walks in with the other. They see a redhead on the sofa, flicking through channels on the TV.

“Oh, Hoshihara? I kept your bag in your room for you. If you need any help or something, you can tell me.” Arata turns his head around with a smile on his features. For an odd reason, the blond feels glad the redhead’s fully clothed this time but still uneasy at the use of his surname.

“Thank you,” is all he can say before he carries his bag to the room Arata showed him earlier, Haruki tailing behind him.

The two men look at each other after they close the door. “So?” the blond says, arching an eyebrow.

“There’s no doubt about it. That’s Arata,” Haruki says. He keeps the boxes he’d been carrying by the bed. “But it doesn’t seem like he recognized me.”

“And you cut your hair back to how it was like in middle school. So our appearances have nothing to do with Arata not recognizing us,” he sits on the bed and Haruki follows. “Jin-san and Rikuya said he was in a coma… you don’t think he’s…?” his voice comes out softly.

Haruki closes his eyes and sighs. “With how things are right now, it’s very likely he is.” He confirms that his thoughts are the same as the other’s. The blond lies down on the bed, eyes wide and hands trembling. He feels like something dropped itself onto him, crushing him and rendering him unable to breathe right.

He’s sure it’s the realization that Arata is amnesiac.

* * *

 

“Who was that?”

“Huh?” he blinks at the sudden question thrown at him upon entering the apartment. He had just come back from seeing Haruki off and thanking him for the car ride from his previous town to Tokio City. He sees Arata in the kitchenette, drinking water, looking straight at him.

“The guy with black hair,” Arata says. “Who’s he?”

“A close friend,” he hesitates for a while, “that I’ve known since middle school.”

This is hard. Haruki told him to keep up the _we’re-new-flatmates-who-just-met_ act but it’s such a foreign thing to do. Maybe it won’t be as hard as he thinks it’d be. Arata doesn’t remember who he is, and he… well, he lost contact with the other six years ago or so.

They really are strangers.

“Why don’t I cook dinner?” Arata says suddenly with a grin on his face.

His eyebrows rise. The first question that he wants to ask is _‘You can_ cook _?’_ but somehow that’d be inappropriately rude. The redhead must’ve read his expression because he says, “I’m not the _best_ chef around but I can make a decent meal. So, what do you say? Since it’s your first day here and all I thought we could get to know each other through some pasta, if you’re up for it. Consider it a welcome party.”

 _That’s so you_ , he thinks to himself, remembering the time Muraku’s platoon transferred to Jenock. The entire virtual country made a party just for the sixth platoon, Arata being the one who came up with the idea. “I’d like that.”

* * *

 

“You don’t talk much, huh?” Arata comments and sits next to him.

He nods a little, still cautious with his actions. Arata had tried to initiate a conversation between them during dinner but his responses were sparse due to the awkwardness that was one-sided. And now here they are on the sofa, their eyes on the TV.

 So far the impression he’s giving Arata is that he’s someone who doesn’t talk a lot—which is true, in a way—and apparently he’s almost emotionless, like a robot. At least he thinks that’s the impression Arata has of him.

He doesn’t know how to carry himself in front of the redhead, thus the lack of words or reactions. Someone who’s a loner or a snob? Friendly or cold? It’s all so confusing for him. And Arata… he’s the same but there’s a tint of difference—still cheerful and energetic but somewhat… mellow.

“I’m going to go to sleep now. Again, it’s nice to meet you, Hoshihara.” Arata stands up to stretch before making way for his room.

This early? It’s only 9PM. That’s something new, among the many new things he learnt about Arata today.

“Good night,” he says, biting his cheek afterwards. He hasn’t said that to the other in ages and the words slipped out of his mouth, like it’s the most natural thing to do—which it used to be. “And thank you for dinner.” He quickly adds, averting his eyes to the TV remote on his left.

Arata merely grins. “Good night.” He says, closing the door.

He’s not sure if it will be a good one.

* * *

 

When he walks into the kitchenette next morning, he sees the note attached to the fridge. He’s surprised he can still recognize Arata’s handwriting. Then again, who else would be leaving notes for him in this place?

_I’ve gone to work. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I’ll probably be back a couple of hours before dinner._

_(^ _ ^)/ Have a nice day!_

Work, huh? So that’s why he went to bed early. He rips the note from the fridge and crumples it into his pocket. Curiously, he swings the refrigerator’s door open and is greeted by bundle after bundle of chocolates and sweets.

His blue eyes widen in surprise. It’s like a child’s dream fridge. Of course, in between all the candy there are ‘normal’ food you would find in any fridge owned by a normal person squeezed in here and there but he’s sure if he rearranged everything, half of the refrigerator would be candy and the other half would be whatever Arata has in here that’s not candy.

Did Arata always have a sweet tooth or did he grow one in between their years apart?

Arata said he can eat anything, but he’d rather not. At least he won’t until they were back to the status of friends again. It’s typical of Arata to be this friendly to a stranger but he won’t take advantage of that friendliness. He wants to build their friendship back to the way it was, from scratch with his own effort.

And maybe, just maybe, Arata will remember him again.

After breakfast, consisting of onigiri and juice from the nearest convenience store, he decides to explore their apartment. He leaves Arata’s room out of his plan, of course. That’d be disrespectful of him. He checks the CD and magazine racks, not realizing he’s frowning the whole time.

All he finds are normal teen magazines and albums of famous and obscure bands. In between some pages of books, music scores peek out with notes and lyrics written on them. He even finds a stray guitar pick under the coffee table.

Not a single thing about LBXs.

He thought that even with amnesia, Arata still played with LBXs. Apparently he’s wrong. Baa-chan’s words from yesterday confirmed his suspicions—Arata has moved on to the world of music. The fact that the LBX-loving boy has changed interests upset him.

The redhead was so passionate over LBXs… and now…

He may have almost given up in his search for Arata, but now that the man is within his reach, he’s not going to give up on his memories as easily.

* * *

 

Lately his life is nothing but one surprise after the next and a lot of getting used to things. Pretending he doesn’t know Arata personally, one of them—Tokio City, another.

He looks around, trying to decipher where he is. To say he’s lost… would be the right term. He’s still not used to the area and considering it’s a city, he’s taken wrong turns one time too many. Calling Haruki would just embarrass him. He needs to learn his way around Tokio City sooner or later, so he figures he’ll walk on his own for a bit more. He’s bound to encounter the train station, right?

A few steps later, rather than finding his destination, a voice greets him instead.

“Hey.”

He turns around, startled to see Arata walking beside him with the famous grin on his face and a lollipop in between his lips.

“Sena.” He says to show he recognizes the other. For him, it’s still odd to be calling Arata by his surname. But the other showed no intention in referring the blond with his first name ever since he moved in, thus he decided he’ll follow suit and stick with the formalities.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you here.” Arata says and laughs.

He notes the giant case the redhead’s carrying over his shoulder before he answers, “I could say the same. What’s that you’re carrying with you?”

“Ah, it’s my beloved guitar.”

Not a surprise.

“Are you in a band?”

“Yeah, I am. We practice a couple of hours each day. Where’re you heading?”

Uh-oh. Is he willing to confess to the redhead he can’t navigate through the city alone? The blond let a few seconds tick past before he sighs and answers. “The train station. But I can’t find it.”

“The train station?” Arata repeats. “Are you saying you’re lost?” he adds with a laugh.

He huffs in indignation. As if he needs to hear that from Arata. He nods anyway and Arata jabs a thumb forward. “Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

* * *

 

For most of their journey, Arata hums a melody. It’s slow, soft and comforting—he can’t help but to be attracted to it. It’s his first time hearing a melody like so, it makes him feel like he’s about to doze off but not exactly yet. He wants to ask Arata about the melody, when his eyes register the surrounding area and all questions regarding the melody dissolves in his confusion.

“This isn’t the train station.” He says, looking at the trees around them. They appear to be in a park, if the paved walkways and lavish greens around them are any indication. The moon peeks through the branches, patches of light seen on the ground near them.

Arata sheepishly grins and scratches his cheek. “Well, I, er, thought we could have a little walk before going home, you know?” he says. “Besides, the sky view is great from here.”

Blue eyes blink quickly and he turns around to face Arata.

“Of course if you want to go home, we can do that instead,” Arata says hurriedly. “You must be tired, after all!”

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “I can use a bit of fresh air.”

Relief spreads through Arata’s face. The blond lifts his head and his lips turn up a little at the sight of a few blinking stars. There’s only a handful but considering they’re in a city it’s a nice view either way, quite a rest from the artificial light.

“I’ve never seen a star-filled sky,” Arata says. “I want to see it though, even just once.”

 _But you have_ , the blond thinks to himself, _countless of times in fact_. “I’ve seen a sky like that. And I can say that it’s best to watch from an island, far away from any light pollution.” He says, briefly missing the twinkling lights on the dark canvas back on Kamui Island. He compared skies from every place he’s visited and he can’t deny he likes Kamui’s best.

“Really?  Do you come from an island?”

“Not exactly. I attended Kamui Daimon Comprehensive Academy.” He replies hastily, keeping a close eye on Arata’s expression. He’s met with a face of wonder.

“No way, you’re an LBX player?!” Arata asks bubbly.

He can’t help smiling at the redhead. So Arata knows a thing or two.

“I’ve always wanted to try LBXs!” Arata says. The exclamation sends a shockwave through him.

Arata must’ve seen his expression because he quickly explains, “My parents won’t let me near one for some reason.”

He can only nod, knowing full well why Arata’s parents acted like so.

“So you’ve been at Kamui since the first year of middle school or something? Because that’d be awesome!”

 _No, we both entered Kamui together a bit late in our second year. You had just recently won your third championship thanks to your opponent’s slipup while I had been held back by Artemis,_ is what he wants to say but he knows Arata won’t believe him. Maybe think he’s joking. He says exactly that though, minus the part about Arata enrolling at the same time as him and winning because of his foe’s mistake.

He looks amazed. “How was middle school like?” Arata asks eagerly.

His eyebrows rise at the question. He stares into Arata’s face for a while, trying to think of a good way to retell his memories. But attempting to make a terrorist attack on the school sound homely isn’t a piece of cake. And then there’s also the part where Arata…

“Ah, sorry. That must’ve been a weird question,” says Arata suddenly, scratching his cheek again.

The blond didn’t think of the question as weird at all. In fact, he’s the one who’s currently confused as to why Arata would think a simple question like that is weird. Not every school out there is like Kamui Daimon—it’s one of a kind. It’d be normal if anyone wondered how life in Kamui was like.

“This might sound crazy but I, uh…” Arata starts. “I don’t know how it felt like to be in middle school. Or rather, the better phrase for it is, I don’t remember.”

_Oh, so that’s it._

“My parents told me I got into an accident when I was younger that wiped away five years of my memories. I’m amnesiac. I had to start high school right after I woke up from the coma. Mom and Dad won’t even tell me what school I went to before and they’re completely against the idea of me trying to get my memories back,” Arata loudly sighed. “It’s a bummer. But they think it’s for the best—said something about the school being at fault for the accident.”

He can’t believe his ears. So all this time Arata’s parents had been feeding him lies regarding the accident? He expected it, deep down inside, when he realized that Arata hadn’t tried contacting them at all after the accident but he didn’t want to believe it. And now the evidence lies bare in front of him.

He blinks and he realizes Arata is quiet, waiting for a form of reaction.

“I…” he doesn’t know what to say. Admit he’s known all along and risk this fragile bond they had just created?

Mind buzzing, he asks himself what would Haruki do. Haruki would probably come clean and tell the truth. Arata deserves to know what he forgot. The best thing to do is to tell him and let fate decide whether or not Arata will believe him. But…

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

But he’s not strong enough to do it.

* * *

 

The next morning seems somewhat cheerful, mostly due to Arata’s part. He bombs the blond with questions regarding LBXs the minute he enters the kitchenette for breakfast. Arata’s cooking, as usual. It’s a simple meal of sausages, toast and mashed potato. He tries to down his food and ignore the heavy guilt in the pit of his stomach at the same time.

He’s in the middle of explaining to Arata what War Time is— _You loved War Time more than anything. You often got in trouble during classes for coming up with ideas on how to complete suspended missions rather than paying attention—_ when he catches Arata’s eyes lingering blankly on him. He doesn’t look like he’s listening to a word.

“What?”

“What?” is the spontaneous reply from Arata. He blinks, eyes still on the blond, and it takes him a moment later to sputter his juice. “Oh, I—uh,” he stutters, cheeks red in embarrassment from getting caught staring.

Slightly amused, the blond shakes his head. “What were you even looking at?” he asks, biting into his toast.

Arata sits upright and clears his throat. “It’s your jacket. I noticed you wear it every morning. I was just wondering why,” he says, looking away.

The blond stops chewing and looks down at himself. It’s a bit of a tight fit, the blue has faded slightly from sun exposure and it’s linty in some parts but the jacket Arata had left in their room the day he left has served him greatly.

“I don’t wear it every morning, I wear it to sleep.” He confesses with a struggle. _It’s okay_ , he tells himself, _Arata doesn’t remember he’s the rightful owner._

Arata’s eyebrows rise, probably finding the idea of wearing the same jacket to sleep every night as odd.

“I… Er… can’t sleep without it,” he avoids Arata’s eyes. He’s sure he’s more embarrassed than Arata was earlier and wishes he had continued on talking about War Time instead of pointing out Arata’s wandering thoughts.

He’s not quite positive when it happened and he can’t exactly remember when he realized, but he remembers the sleepless dark nights when the jacket was in the laundry. He tossed and turned restlessly in agitation, eyes wide open. The next night he had the jacket, he fell sound asleep almost immediately and not even the slightest stir woke him up.

Long story short, the jacket became an important treasure to him.

“Oh.” Arata says. His eyes are on him again and the blond feels a rush of self-consciousness rise inside. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, toying with the sausages around his plate. He finds himself fighting against the urge to pull his hood up to cover his face.

“Hey, Hoshihara.”

“Hm?”

“…Never mind, it’s nothing.”

* * *

 

His eyes trail from the news on the TV screen to Arata who’s sitting on the other end of the sofa. This is the first time he’s seen Arata hold his guitar and test out strings, humming the melody from their walk in the park a few weeks ago and sometimes mumbling under his breath.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously, edging closer to the redhead so he can see the words Arata’s writing on the paper clearly. His blue eyes narrow. Is Arata writing a song? It seems like it. He realizes he doesn’t know much about Arata’s activities in the band.

“Writer’s block.” Arata mumbles.

“What?”

“I can’t get any ideas,” says Arata irritatedly, biting the edge of his pencil before he erases the bottom row of words. “Everything I come up with is no good at all.”

“Let me see,” he says, finally sitting right next to Arata, and extends a hand for the paper. Arata gives it to him and watches him as he reads through everything Arata wrote. “What is it about?” he asks, placing the paper between them so they’d both get an open view of it. The first few paragraphs tell him this isn’t a love song.

Arata hesitates, as if he’s thinking of a good way to summarize the song. “It’s about a group of friends going different ways after fighting together for a long time,” he shifts himself so he can sit better, “a goodbye song.”

The blond blinks at Arata before his eyes return to the paper. He reads the first line out loud. “WHISTLE ya CHIME ni sekasare sugiteku hibi...” for one reason or another, he feels a tug at his heart. Arata pulls the paper closer to him and begins strumming.

The redhead takes a deep breath and for the first time in his life, he hears Arata sing.

_We live our days hurried along by the whistles and the chimes_   
_I wonder if we’ll laugh at ourselves when we look back on these times_   
_I came all this way aiming to excel and succeed_   
_Putting all my might into running down this long road_

Blue eyes widen considerably. Something about this song, and the way Arata sings it, is making his insides mix. He can’t understand why and decides to ignore it. It’s probably a onetime thing, it’ll go away eventually.

He makes an indistinct smile and says, “I like your voice.”

“Thanks,” Arata says with his own smile. But it disappears as Arata uses his pencil to point at a line. “I’m having trouble to think of what should come after this,” he says to the blond and quickly sings it. _“We’ll hold our fists up high, and swear on them. That we’ll turn the wars we overcame together into courage…”_

 _“Even if we’re apart, see, we’re not alone…”_ almost spontaneously, the words slip out of the blond’s mouth. He can feel himself reddening as Arata flashes a wide grin, quickly writing down what he had just said.

“That’s perfect!” Arata exclaims excitedly. “Spontaneous inspiration is definitely the way to do things. Hey, why don’t you come watch us practice one day?” he suggests.

The offer startles the blond. He’s not sure what to make of it. Is Arata serious with the invitation or is it a passing thought?

“The rest of the band won’t mind if I drop by?” he asks.

“Doubt they will. They’d be ecstatic to have someone watch.”

He fails to see any other reason why he shouldn’t go. With the tiniest of smiles, he nods. “I’d love to.”

* * *

 

It appears to him that Arata spends more time with the guitar than usual, humming, strumming and mumbling almost the whole day. They hardly have breakfast or dinner together anymore.

In other words, Arata is getting more and more invested with his band and it seems like the invitation to watch his band practice slipped out of his mind entirely, for there’s no mention of it in weeks. Maybe Arata wasn’t serious after all.

And it gets worse when the blond comes down with a fever. With a throbbing headache he sends Arata, who’s making an annoying ‘racket’ with his pencil tapping, another glare before he huffs and hastily leaves Arata in the apartment.

Despite his weak state, he still manages to climb down the stairs and knock on Baa-chan’s door.

He has developed some form of friendship with the old woman, having constant conversations with her every time they meet—which is mostly when she comes by to collect rent or when he comes across her on his way in and out the block. But she has made it clear that if he ever runs into trouble, he can come by to her place. And so here he is, running away from said noisy trouble.

Of course, he’d rather be in his room. But if he rests there, Arata would be even louder, his sounds passing the walls as if they were made of thin paper. Thus his only sanctuary lay three floors under.

Baa-chan opens the door, not too surprised to see him as he hoped, and ushers the man in. “Is something the matter?” she asks, walking behind him. He almost collapses but manages to steady himself by holding the wall. Concern spreads through her face and he answers meekly, “Fever…”

That one word sends her into frenzy, for she makes him sit on the sofa in the living room and repeatedly asks him if he’s taken medicine in between rants about the younger generation not being able to take care of themselves properly.

He thinks of it as amusing and manages to make himself heard over her rambles. “Yes, I have. Don’t worry about that.”

The old woman nods curtly and leaves him to make some tea. When she comes back with two cups, she asks, “So why did you come here, with a fever to boot?”

“To get away from Sena.” He replies nonchalantly, taking a sip.

“Sena? You mean Arata-kun?”

“Yeah, he’s making a noise up there. I can’t sleep with him around.” He says and lies down, placing his arm on his forehead. He can see Baa-chan shake her head and mutter something under her breath from the corner of his eye—probably about Arata being an irresponsible flatmate.

He’s about to ask her if it’s okay for him to rest here for a couple of hours when she asks, “After all these months you two are still on last names?”

Her eyes are wide as if it’s the most unheard thing. It’s true; he’s stayed here for half a year by now. Perhaps Arata sees him as a friend already considering they’ve lived together for this long. Even if he does, Arata hasn’t tried calling him other than ‘Hoshihara’ at all so he himself hasn’t budged from calling him ‘Sena’.

The blond nods. “There’s nothing wrong with that, right?” he tries to keep his voice steady. He wonders if he really meant that question for Baa-chan or if he was asking himself that.

Baa-chan shakes her head. “I don’t think there is. But it is a bit weird considering the circumstances.” She says. She’s about to say more when he decides to cut her off.

“Baa-chan.”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind... if I tell you something?”

She looks perplexed but nods, encouraging him to continue.

He waits for a few moments more, collecting the strength and courage he has left, and tells her of his time at Kamui with Arata, how they fought Seledy, how Arata decided to leave, how they lost contact and how he spent two years looking for him until he finds him here, amnesiac.

He’s not sure why he’s telling Baa-chan all of this. Maybe for comfort. Or maybe he just wanted someone to listen. Maybe he’s had enough of pretending and maybe he just wanted everything to end. Because if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s the fact that he’s growing weary of it all.

Or maybe it’s the fever talking.

“And he still hasn’t shown any sign he has regained his memories?” Baa-chan asks, a little wide-eyed.

She looks like she believes in him and his story despite how crazy he worded it and he doesn’t hesitate to answer her. “I’m afraid not.” He says, shaking his head.

“But are you even trying to get his memories back?”

Taken aback, he gasps. “What?”

“It just seems to me that you’re either not trying hard enough,” she says, stirring her cup of tea. “Or you don’t want him to remember.”

The idea of it is crazy to him. Of course he wants Arata to remember, they’ve spent all that time together and he can’t just let the redhead not know all of it ever happened. He even thinks he’s never handled an LBX before!

Arata’s like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle and the missing piece is his memories. He needs to recover it for the puzzle to be whole again.

Baa-chan must be crazy to think he’d do something like that. He didn’t even think it was possible until she brought it up. Even so, he’d never lie to him if it comes to Arata’s past…

He’d never… right?

Then a new thought comes to mind. A lump forms in his throat. “Baa-chan… do you think that… there’s a chance he won’t get his memories back at all?”

The idea of it frightens him

But before Baa-chan can answer, someone knocks on the door. The two look at each other before she sets her cup on the coffee table and stands up. He hears her walking, still quick with her steps as usual. The door creaks and he faintly hears two voices talking.

_“Ah, Arata-kun, what brings you here?”_

_“I’m looking for Hoshihara. Did he tell you where he went?”_

_“Oh? He’s inside the living room.”_

_“What? What’s he doing here?”_

They seem to be walking towards him, if the nearing footsteps are any indication. Soon enough, he sees Arata’s face poking in from the doorway.

“You! You disappeared so suddenly, I got worried!” the redhead exclaims. He’s hit at the back of his head by Baa-chan.

“Keep it down. He’s got a fever.” She says.

Arata rubs his head in pain before he looks at him with wide eyes. “Fever? That’s why you ran here?”

“I have a headache too. You were making a racket up there…” the blond says, holding his head to make his point clear.

“You could’ve just told me!” says Arata. He walks towards him and lifts him up by his arm, supporting his weight. Caught by surprise, he stumbles forward but Arata manages to pull him upright. “Come on, I’ll make you miso soup for dinner.” The redhead says.

“W-Wait a minute!” he tries protesting but he lost too much energy getting here to fight back. “Baa-chan, help me!” he resorts to his last hope for help, not exactly wanting to return to their apartment. He can’t leave his earlier conversation with her suspended.

The old woman simply shakes her head as she says, “Get better soon!” with a smile and closing the door behind them as Arata drags him away on his tripping feet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘Take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘Hurry back,’ or even ‘Watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."—The Curious Savage (John Patrick)
> 
> When Arata left, he knew it won't be the same. When Arata stopped contacting them, he knew he wanted answers. But when he finds Arata again, he is living a life that Hikaru begrudgingly admits is a happy one, with no memories of Kamui Island or LBXs inside the redhead's mind.
> 
> What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at first i didnt want to update today, but then i realized i accidentally set up an update schedule that will fall right on valentine's day
> 
> so i thought
> 
> why not, right?
> 
> please enjoy!! :9

"Gee, if I'm being a nuisance with my music, you can just tell me, you know?" Arata says, lying him down on the couch. The blond closes his eyes, grateful for the comfy cushions. He thought the one at Baa-chan's were a little too hard for his taste.

"You looked like you were chasing after a deadline or something. I didn't want to hold you back." He explains, sniffling.

Arata rolls his eyes. "You put others way above yourself. Be a little selfish sometimes, alright?"

"I can say the same to you. You practically carried me up three flights of stairs."

"That's because  _I_  was the reason you went all the way to that old woman's place!" Arata argues. He then rolls up his sleeves. "So, do you still want miso soup or something else to eat?"

He doesn't have much of an appetite and he'd really rather eat nothing at all. But he knows Arata won't let him go with an empty stomach. He can really be a troublesome flatmate at times, but when was he never?

The blond nods his head gently. "Miso soup…" he says weakly. At least he's sure he can down some soup. If not, well, he can't really do anything about it then.

"Try getting some sleep. I'll wake you up once it's done." The other says. Arata leaves him there for the kitchenette and his eyes travel to the table, where he can see an acoustic guitar on the carpet beside it. Papers with words are littered on it and there is a lot of pencil shavings and eraser dust.

A very messy workspace, that's for sure.

He tries to do as he was told—sleep. But his mind drifts back to Kamui Island, where Arata's table in their dorm room was sometimes as messy, where his notebooks were decorated with various doodles of LBXs, where he sometimes has to clean Arata's desk for him.

A small smile finds itself on his face and he chuckles.

He doesn't remember when he fell asleep. All he knows is that Arata poked him awake on the cheek with a spoon's handle. "Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead, before your soup goes cold," he coos, causing the blond to bolt upright on the couch. It's a bad move because the sudden jolt made his head hurt even more. He makes a show out of it by groaning loudly.

Arata stands up. "I'll get some tablets."

He comes back a moment later, placing the bottle of pills beside a bowl and lowers himself to his knees. "Open up." Arata says, taking a spoonful of soup and holding it in front of the blond's face.

He stares at the spoon and then at Arata. "…What?" the sick adult says blearily.

"It's dinner." Arata replies, almost too innocently.

"I can see it's my dinner," he grumbles. "I'm wondering what  _you_  are doing."

"Feeding you." He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He blinks. He blinks again. "You are  _not_  feeding me. I have a fever, not two broken hands." His tone sounds incredulous. Surely he must be dreaming—to dream of Arata wanting to feed him, how embarrassingly insane. He should've seen something is wrong when he was woken by Arata's loving voice.

Then again, this is a fever dream. He's not awake yet.

"You can barely sit upright," Arata shakes his head, placing the spoon in the bowl. He takes the seat beside the blond and pushes him gently by the shoulders, so he's leaning into the couch. "You need to rest as much as you can." Arata says softly.

He looks into Arata's face and the other stares back. He almost can't comprehend why Arata is being nice to him; not that he always isn't but today it feels like he's nicer than usual. It's making him a little uncomfortable but he can't find anything to complain about to make the other stop.

He doesn't hate it; it's just… making him feel weird inside.

Reluctantly he admits defeat and nods his head with a sigh. He realizes his blond hair is terribly messy and his head feels like it's covered in seaweed. He reaches back and pulls out his hair tie, letting his long hair loose. He attempts to retie it but another pair of hands takes his bundle of hair and scrunchie from his grasp. He raises his eyebrow when Arata repositions himself so he's facing him.

"Turn around," Arata says. "I'll tie it for you."

His first instinct is to say 'No!' but he's too far gone to resist. He does as Arata instructs him and feels the redhead's fingers brushing his locks, pulling every stray strand back into place and fastening the hair tie a bit too tightly. For some reason, he enjoys it; more so when Arata feeds him spoonful after spoonful of soup.

It feels nice to be doted on, even if it's a dream.

* * *

 

"Hey Arata, you alright? Your play's awful today."

"Huh? Oh, hey Ren. Really? How awful, say, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Seriously man, what's up? All of us knew you since high school, and you've definitely got a problem."

"Yeah, you can tell us. We're a band, right?"

"Alright, alright, quit nagging," a deep sigh escapes the redhead's lips. He can't shake these three off at all. Guess that's why he stuck with them. "There's just… this guy. He's my flatmate and—"

"Woah, woah, woah, hold up, you've got a flatmate and you didn't tell us?"

"Wait, let me guess. You're crushing on your new flatmate, aren't you?"

"And  _this_  is why I don't talk to you guys!"

"X marks the spot boys, we've hit gold! Arata's distracted because he keeps getting dirty fantasies featuring his sexy flatmate!"

"T-That's not what I'm trying to say—!"

* * *

 

When he's better and fit as a fiddle few days later, Baa-chan is the one who appears on his doorstep this time. No, it's not to collect the rent, apparently.

"I've got coupons." She says.

He blinks, not exactly understanding where she's coming from.

"I've got two coupons for a free one week stay at Richmond Hotel Fukushimaekimae," she says. "I won them in a lottery but I'm too old to be travelling and all my other friends are just as old as me, so we're going nowhere with that."

The woman pulls out said coupons out of her maroon clutch and hands them to him. "You and Arata-kun should go instead."

His eyes widen largely. He looks at the strips of plastic paper offered to him then to Baa-chan's face again. Go on a holiday trip…? With Arata…? He can't quite grasp the logic behind that. Maybe he still has a fever and this is another fever dream. He should see a doctor. This can't be normal.

"Stop looking at me like you've been told you're inheriting Kaidou Jin's fortunes," she says sharply, knocking him out of his stupor. "Take the coupons. I don't have all day to argue with you because I'm not accepting a 'no'. That's that."

And now here he is, on the sofa, staring at the coupons that were forced onto him by a woman thrice his age. Arata isn't home yet, he's out with his band as usual.

When he thinks about it, maybe a little break is exactly what Arata needs under all that stress. It's not like the redhead ever takes a rest during the weekends. He's not sure why Arata's more invested in his band than usual but he suspects it's something big. He hasn't exactly asked but he'll find out eventually or when Arata decides to tell him on his own volition.

It's not like he minds going on a trip with Arata anyway. What harm can it do?

He hears the door to the apartment unlock and stands—only to freeze when he hears a number of voices  _not_  from Arata. He doesn't recognize any of them at all, complete strangers. If he's quick maybe he'll make it to his room in time to hide if Arata invites them in. Wait, why  _does_  he want to hide? Plus that's bad manners as a host.

_"Ugh, guys, come on, get out of here."_  An exasperated Arata says.

_"No way Arata, we wanna meet him!"_

_"Yeah, introduce us to him."_

_"We'll force our way in if we have to!"_

The blond sighs with a smile. Looks like whomever they are, they're giving Arata a hard time (if the loud grumbling from the redhead is any indication) and it appears that Arata has no intention of inviting them inside.

Then he hears signs of a scuffle, some more shouting, a door slammed locked and one pair of footsteps tiredly approaching the living room. He can recognize those steps anywhere, sluggish as they may be.

"Eek…!" Arata squeaks in surprise and his face breaks into a deep crimson. "Hoshihara!" he exclaims. His lollipop almost falls out of his mouth and he decides to hold onto it.

The blond raises an eyebrow. "Welcome home." He says, despite the reaction Arata gave upon seeing him.

"Um, yeah, I'm home," he scratches his cheek. "I, uh, thought you've got work today…?"

"It's a Sunday."

"Oh,  _right_."

Arata's playing with his sleeves and shifting from feet to feet, pointedly avoiding the blond's gaze. Weird.

"I assume they are your bandmates." He says, making way to the kitchenette.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, they are. Loud lot, aren't they?  _Nosy_  too," Arata says with an obviously fake laugh. He scratches the back of his head and grins. "I'm going to rest in my room now…" Arata starts towards his room, evidently taking awkward steps.

"Wait," he says, picking up his glass of water and drinking a little. Arata turns towards him with an expectant look on his face—maybe a little eagerness too? He's shifting on his feet again.

"Baa-chan came here earlier."

"Oh?"

"She gave me these," he waves the tickets in his hands. "And she told me to go with you. They're coupons for a free stay in a resort in Fukushima. You up for it?"

"Eh…? Eh? Eh?!"

He narrows his eyes at Arata. "That's quite a reaction."

Despite saying that, he's seen Arata respond like that a lot of times before. Back in Kamui and back when they were in Jenock together. So it's not all too unfamiliar to him. Maybe it's because Arata's so much like his fourteen year old self right now that he's thrown off.

Arata's hasty and not paying full attention, locking people behind doors (he heard about Arata locking up Haruki and Sakuya in an unused mechanic room while he was hospitalized after his  _shocking_  attack) and overreacting over the small things.

"Oh, uh, when is it…?" Arata asks, coughing.

"In a week. That's what it says on the tickets."

Arata takes a large gulp. "I… I see." Arata's looking everywhere but at him. Slight disappointment rises inside the blond.

He says, "If you don't want to go you can just say so." He can't deny a slither of hope had made its way into him but at least he hadn't hoped very strongly that Arata would agree. The trip would cut into his schedule so suddenly after all. Looks like Baa-chan's luck in the lottery would have to go to waste. Or he can find someone else to go with…

"T-That's not—!" Arata begins. "I'm just… I'm just not sure if I can make it. The band's taking most of my time lately. But I do want to go with you!" he stresses with a confident face. "I'd love to. It sounds like fun."

For some reason Arata smiles and it unnerves him, especially after Arata said he definitely wants to go. It almost feels like there's something else entirely going on with Arata. The blond shakes his thoughts away—he must be overthinking things again.

It's good that Arata does want to go; he thinks that it was starting to get a bit awkward. So even if circumstances don't allow them for the trip, there's still the knowledge that Arata was willing to go with him. And that makes his chest lighter and his spirits higher.

"I'll try asking them tomorrow to see if it's fine," Arata says, moving towards his room. "I'm looking forward to a yes."

_Me too_ , he thinks to himself.

* * *

 

"Arata."

Turning his head, he sees Ren standing next to him with two sodas in his hand. "Hey." He says to the other.

Ren smiles. "Sorry about all the teasing yesterday," he says and hands a soda. "So when will you introduce him to us?"

"With how things are going, I don't think I ever will."

"Aw, come on!"

"Thanks to you guys, I couldn't get proper sleep last night," he snarls at him. "It's no better when he invited me to Fukushima next week too. Now I'm all messed up and confused!"

"Wait, he invited you to Fukushima? Is that his hometown?"

"No! …I think. Our landlord won some prize and gave it to him so he's inviting me but since the thing is so close now I don't think I should go but I really want to—!"

"Arata, calm down!" Ren says, half-laughing and half serious at the speed Arata used to babble. "Why are you even hesitating? Just go."

"But the band—"

"You've done enough for the band to deserve that little break. Don't worry. I'll take charge when you're gone."

"You mean it?"

"Of course I do, the band can live without you for a week." He says, grinning.

It's at this moment Arata realizes how great of a friend Ren is, the rascal.

* * *

 

He can feel the train slow down under his feet and he distinctly looked out the window. The train station is closing in from the distance. The blond turns off his tablet and place it in his bag before he turns to the person in front of him.

Arata's sleeping soundly and he wonders if it's due to the lack of sleep Arata had these past few weeks. He almost doesn't have the heart to wake Arata up but he has to. Besides, Arata can continue his sleep in their hotel room.

Softly he nudges Arata by the shoulder. A mumbled incomprehensible response comes out.

"Sena, wake up. We're here." He says, hoping that Arata's mind would be quick enough to process the information and jolt him awake. Instead, he gets a yawn and Arata stretches his limbs. He's mumbling again but clearer this time.

"Five more minutes, Hikaru…"

The blond's eyes widen. The train comes to a complete halt, momentarily pulling him out of his daze. He takes Arata's bag and, without a second glance, throws it onto Arata's lap. The redhead's surprised yelp disappears into the small noise as a tiny crowd of people board off, accompanied by the chatter from the pedestrians waiting at the station.

He doesn't even realize he's already a few meters away from the train, only stopping by the waiting area because his subconscious mind remembers that he's not travelling alone and he left said travelling partner to his own devices inside the train. He's taking deep breaths and he forces his eyes shut.

What was  _that_?

Did Arata really…? Then, why is he so affected by it…? Is he scared of it? Suddenly he's thrown into a spiral of confusion and unanswered questions. Did Arata remember? Is his amnesia cured? Or was that just Arata finally deciding to be on first names basis in his sleep?

Maybe going on this vacation wasn't the best idea after all.

Arata finds him moments later, gasping for breath.

"There you are," he says and then smiles. "You really didn't have to leave me behind you know?" he tries to make it sound like he's offended but it's obvious he's joking. Then he sees the blond's face and his own expression drops. "Hey, you okay?"

The blond's still taking deep breaths. "Just a bit carsick," he lies with a tinge of guilt. "I'll be fine if I sit for a while."

Arata gives him a sceptical look but he sits down next to him either way.

Time ticks by as he waits for his nerves to settle down. He's still asking himself questions about earlier, when Arata called his name in his sleep. Or was it a half-sleep? It doesn't matter. It's the fact that it happened that matters.

He does wonder why he's overreacting. It's such a simple occurrence, something he handled so much better back when he was fourteen years old and had just recently transferred into Kamui Daimon. Why is it so hard to deal with now? Is it because he's gotten himself used to hearing his family name flow out of the redhead's mouth?

_This is utterly ridiculous_ , he thinks to himself.

He summons all of his energy and stands up, turning around to face Arata. "Let's catch a cab." He says.

"You sure you're okay?" Arata asks. He sounds very worried as he slings his bag over his shoulder. The blond nods vigorously. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Hey, Hoshihara."

"Hm?"

"Let's make a detour."

"Huh?"

"I mean, it's still early. We've got a couple of hours to spare before we gotta check in. It'll be fine."

"And  _where_  do you suggest we go?"

"I know a place or two."

"Really?"

"Come on, trust me on this."

"The sleep in the train must've given you a lot of energy. What do we do with our luggage, genius?"

"Don't worry, don't worry, I've got that covered!"

His eyebrows rise incredulously. Is Arata for real? He can't be serious. But Arata proves his word when he takes the blond's bag. "Stay here." Arata says over his shoulder, leaving the area in small jogs. He stares at Arata's retreating figure, dumbfounded by how he's able to carry two large and heavy bags with ease and trying to figure out where Arata's taking those bags or what he's planning.

Arata comes back moments later looking pleased, hands empty of their luggage. "They're in safe hands!" he exclaims hurriedly, almost sounding excited. "Now, follow me Hoshihara, we're going on an adventure!"

"You have  _got_  to be kidding me."

They hitch a ride in a taxi and he didn't bother asking Arata where they're heading. Hopefully wherever it is, it won't be someplace weird. And knowing Arata's impulsiveness, it could be anywhere.

His blue eyes gaze out the window, chin propping his hand up. The unfamiliar buildings and people whizz past as the car shoots down the barely filled streets. It's a different feeling from when he was in the train; it feels stranger and a bit intimidating. Arata is sitting beside him instead of in front and neither makes any effort in a conversation, positively aware of the third set of ears that are able to hear them loud and clear—which is totally bizarre, considering that they have nothing to hide and the taxi driver is no more than a taxi driver to them.

When the car stops he steps out after the redhead; the first thing he notices is the strong wind. The second is the large sea. The third,  _'We're at a beach.'_

He turns to look at Arata, who's talking to the taxi driver and handing him a few bills. The redhead approaches him after the taxi drives off. "What do you think?" Arata asks, grinning. He looks around, hands hidden in pockets, and says, "I thought it'd be nice to visit here first, clear our thoughts, y'know?"

"I can't deny it is beautiful…" he says, eyes taking in the astounding scenery. He had grown fond of beaches over the years of living on an island. And this beach, though faraway, reminded him of the place he once called home. Nostalgia sweeps him like the waves to the sand and briefly he dearly misses Kamui Island.

The beach has almost no other occupants, excluding a handful of joggers and locals walking their dogs. The sand is hard and stable from where they're standing but once they walk closer to the waves, it softens and then hardens again due to the waters. The blond inches closer towards the edge and he can hear Arata following him from behind.

"I told the taxi driver to come back in two hours. We've got enough time to look around." Arata says, stretching his arms and taking a deep breath. "The air is nice here, isn't it?"

The blond nods in response. He recalls the days where he used to take lone walks on the beaches of Kamui, sometimes just doing nothing but sit on the sand and stare into the city by the horizon. Occasionally someone would join him—Sakuya, Haruki, Muraku or even Yuno—but most of the time it'd just been him and his thoughts.

"I used to do this a lot back in Kamui," the blond starts. "During sundown, you could see the city tinted orange and pink… It's breathtaking."

Arata's face lights up at this. "You have to take me there one day! I mean, I can go myself, but that'd be pretty boring and I wouldn't even know my way around."

Just as Arata says that, a gust of wind meets them—causing the blond's long hair to dance and tangle. He frowns in discomfort over it because now he forgot what he was going to say to Arata. It doesn't matter either way, when a splash of water hits his face.

"What the—?!"

A surge of surprise jolts him. He hears Arata laughing as he roughly dries his face with his sleeves. When his vision clears, he sees Arata in the water, his shoes dangling over his shoulder, pants rolled up and a giant grin on the redhead's face. He can't fathom when the redhead got himself in that condition.

"You damned—!" he curses, throwing his shoes aside and getting into the water. He swings his foot and a big splosh greets Arata, who fails to avoid the wave and screams in surprise. He smiles proudly at his counterattack. But then he figures he regrets it later, when Arata returns with a fiercer wave—wetting the entire upper half of his body.

"Ha-ha! Serves you right!" Arata laughs. He doesn't fail to notice when the blond begins to creep closer to him with an ominous aura, causing him to make a run for it. "W-Wait, Hoshihara, wait! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Don't think I'm letting you off easy!"

By the time the hour ticked past, the both of them are wet through and through. They sit under the shade of a tree to avoid the afternoon heat. While Arata's arranging their shoes under the sunlight, the blond is struggling to wring his shirt.

"You do realize the taxi driver is not going to let us in his car in this condition," he says to the redhead as he leans against the tree.

Arata sits next to him. "Maybe we can get a new set of clothes from one of those shops over there," he says. Arata notices the sprinkle of sand in the blond's hair as he wrings it and smiles apologetically. "Sorry I dragged you into the water with me."

"You tripped over your own feet. I think I can understand why you suddenly grabbed me," he says, giving an unnoticeable smile back. He slides onto the ground slowly, feeling the tiredness take control of him. Maybe he can take a few winks. It's so nice here under the tree… Shady and… cool…

"We should probably go now," Arata says, trying to remember the way to the clothes store he saw earlier but when he turns his head to look at the blond, his eyes are already closed and his breathing is slow.  _Don't tell me… he fell asleep…?_

"Hoshihara?" he tries again, shaking the blond's shoulders softly. No response. Yeah, he's asleep. He must be really tired.

He finds himself smiling. He's never seen Hoshihara laugh like just now. For some reason he always look like he's frowning or worried over something big. Only on some occasions does he smile and look at ease. It's a nice change to see him act more… cheerful. Arata knows he's been a sourpuss the past few weeks too so maybe this little vacation is exactly what both of them need.

Huh, they've been sharing the same apartment for months now, and yet they're still on a last names basis. One of them needs to take the initiative. He  _could_  but for some reason he feels like Hoshihara wouldn't like it…

He doesn't know. It's just a nagging feeling.

Nothing's stopped him before in all his other encounters with his friends. But when he met him for the first time that day, something clicked. And that something has been pecking at him ever since. He just can't lay a finger on why.

Why it won't let him have the courage to call Hoshihara by his given name.

Oh shit, they need dry clothes.

It took him a number of steps later to realize that he can't leave him here. Hoshihara's like, vulnerable and stuff! He's not calling him weak, not at all, but he's asleep and he's a stranger to the area. Anything could happen. And most of the possibilities aren't exactly keen to Arata.

_What should I do…? I don't want to wake him up, definitely not wake him up. Maybe if I'm quick enough…_

He walks slowly, his sights lingering on Hoshihara for the longest time.

* * *

 

He opens his eyes, surprised to be blinded by a bright light. Instinctively the blond raises his arms to protect his eyes. Why is he standing? No, more appropriately, where is he standing…?

With a few quick blinks, he looks around, noting that everything around him is… Kamui.

Ah, that's right. He's in school, in front of class 2-5. Homeroom should be starting now, right? He should go in and take his seat. But when he slides the door open, he sees no one.

Not a single person is in class.

Strange. He's never been the first student in class before. But he's sure he left the manor the same time he usually did. So, why? Where is everyone? Did he miss an important memo?

Regardless, the blond walks in and closes the door behind him. Maybe sooner or later a familiar face will pop in, greeting him good morning and etcetera. Besides, even if there was a memo or notification, Haruki would've told him.

Speaking of Haruki, where is he? They usually come to school together, the entire First Platoon. This… feels weird.

He walks towards his seat, noting his reflection in the window in surprise. His hair is long and untied, stopping around his waist. He's wearing the Jenock uniform but with a blue jacket underneath the blazer.

Arata's jacket.

This is strange. Why would he wear the redhead's jacket? Not only that, he looks… older too—taller and older, like an adult. He can't think of rhyme and reason why everything is like this. Is this really Kamui? What day is it even?

Everything clicks into place.

No, this can't be right. He can't be in Kamui. He's supposed to be in Tokio City working under Cyber Lance. He shouldn't be here. He  _couldn't_  be here.

A wind blows from behind him, and with it, his hair drifts into his face. Some stray strands find their way into his mouth.

"Hikaru…"

He stifles a gasp. A dreading feeling creeps up from deep inside him, his heartbeat gradually speeding up. He feels a lump in his throat and tries to swallow it down. That voice, it couldn't be…?

He turns around and he sees him. He sees Arata standing there, with his head down and eyes closed. "Ara… ta…?" he says the name slowly, as if tasting and savouring it before it completely left his mouth.

For how long now? For how long hasn't he said that name? The mere thought itself caused his spine to shiver.

The redhead lifts his head and opens his eyes, and the blond knows instantly something isn't right. Something's different. He can see that this Arata holds no glint in his eyes, that childish playful glint. It's gone. He gets even more worried when Arata's forehead crease and his mouth turn downward. Is something the matter? Did something bad happen?

He struggles to ask Arata, "What's wrong?" and he swears his voice nearly cracked.

Arata merely stares at him. For some reason, he's beginning to get cold feet. Why isn't Arata answering? This is unusual. He'd like some answers right now and he's not even sure if it's out of curiosity, worry or fear. None of the three seem like the best emotion at the current moment.

"Why…? Why didn't you tell me?" Arata speaks, softly, tremulously, and he sounds miserable.

He can feel his heartbeat jumping faster and his stomach lurching at the redhead's words. Not in the good way too. This is overwhelming. He can't even answer Arata's question because he's not sure if he should answer. It feels like Arata already knows everything he never told him and he feels naked.

"That day you moved in, you already knew it was me, didn't you?" Arata starts and his hard tone startles the blond. "You already knew I'd be in there, waiting for a new flatmate, you, be completely clueless about whom you are and make a complete fool out of myself."

"No!" he almost shouts. That isn't true. That isn't even half-true. "Arata, I…"

By then Arata's eyes are watering and his jaw is clenched tight. "I trusted you. I thought you'd treat me better than that. Better than leading me to believe you were some stranger who I'd be sharing an apartment with and not someone from a life I've forgotten I had."

It feels like his whole world is crumbling, and that he himself can fall into a messy heap at this very moment, if he does nothing to save what little remnant of this fantasy he has left.

"That's not—!"

But he didn't get the chance to explain himself. Arata's figure breaks into a million pieces out of the blue and so does the faux Kamui Daimon classroom he's in. The pieces fall from his sight, leaving emptiness inside himself that he knows what it is.

In the same time he'd rather not know.

Arata's hurt expression lingers in his memory like a tattoo. The quavering words ring in his ears like an echo. All of this has made him sick to the stomach; he drops onto the floor, if it is even a floor in the first place, and finds his hand covering his mouth. He's not sure if it's to stop the bile from coming up or to stop himself from screaming hysterically.

That's not how he wanted Arata to find out. That's not how he wanted Arata to remember who he was to him. All the effort he put into earning Arata's trust again… All of it doesn't matter in the end. How did Arata find out? When did he find out? Has he kept it a secret for a while, or did he come looking for him the minute he knew? Arata… Arata, Arata… Arata…!

A heavy weight pulls him down to his knees and he's screaming with tears flowing from his eyes. There's no turning back for him now, everything's too late. Arata would never accept his apology. Not even if he begs. The sin he's committed isn't worthy of forgiveness. He can't redeem himself, nothing he does can offer it.

He's guilty for life.

There's a shake on his shoulder and he feels himself falling sideways. The sudden jolt causes his eyes to pry open, only to squint as the Sun shines from behind the red-haired man in front of him—his shadowed face creasing in worry.

"Ara…ta…" his voice comes out lower than a whisper and he holds his own head at the throbbing migraine. He groans and closes his eyes. What happened…? Where is he…?

"Hoshihara…? Are you alright…?"

Arata's voice brings him back to reality and his eyes snap open in realization. He and Arata are in Fukushima, not an alternate Kamui Daimon. Arata still doesn't know about his… secret. A dream… it was all… a dream.

Just thinking about it brings relief and, to his dismay, more guilt in his heart.

"I…" he swallows. "I'm fine." He will be once he forgets about the dream. Which, by now, he probably won't. Maybe not for a long time.

Arata pulls away from the blond, still looking concerned. There's a plastic bag in the other's hand and he wonders when or where did the redhead get it.

"Can you walk? I bought us some clothes to wear at a souvenir shop. We can change in the public restrooms over there." Arata asks, taking hold of the blond's hand as he stands.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure I can walk." He replies, but Arata still looks worried. Did he mumble in his sleep? Did he say anything weird? Worse, did he  _cry_? "What did you get me?" he quickly asks, to avoid any chances of Arata asking anything. He manages to add with a small forced smile, "Not a Hawaiian t-shirt, I hope."

"Um…" Arata scratches the back of his neck. "Not… exactly…" he utters, looking away. Hesitantly, he pulls out a badly coloured floral design t-shirt. That has the old meme of the doge face on the front.

The blond swipes the shirt from Arata's hands and throws it into his face.

* * *

 

The sun is setting when they finally check in, hungry and tired. Their room is a modest one, big enough for three people if they squeeze in another single bed. Arata takes the lead and jumps onto the bed nearest to the balcony first, heaving a sigh of relief at the soft sensation of the mattress under him.

The blond has a small smile on his face as he watches the redhead roll around on the bed like a child, anticipating the moment Arata will drop on the floor. He shakes his head and walks over to the balcony, pulling aside the curtains to reveal the view.

Their room is close to the top of the building, so he can see the sky above and the city below just fine. The sun's orange rays shine into their room, almost blinding him. He squints, staring at the rooftops of local households. Being high up, it's no wonder to him he could also see the mountains ahead.

Everything, everything is tinted orange.

He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

The dream from earlier comes to mind again and the hold he has on the curtain tightens. His chest tightens along with it, almost like a hand intruded his body and is squeezing his heart with an iron grip. He slowly opens his eyes and stares into his reflection in the window.

Ah, the face he's making right now… what an ugly face. Has he always looked that tired? Or is it because of the travelling? Not even the beautiful scene spread in front of him can cheer him up. Maybe he should go to bed early tonight. What about dinner…? Oh, he could care less about dinner. He'll eat a lot during breakfast tomorrow. He just wants to rest now.

He just wants to momentarily escape his reality.

He sits on his bed, not quite ready to hit the hay yet. He decides he'll take a much needed shower first, but then he sees Arata bringing his backpack onto his bed and unzipping. The blond keeps to his silence as Arata takes out a glass bottle and… a syringe?

Arata notices him looking and stops his movements. He grins sheepishly. "Ah… I didn't tell you, did I?"

The blond's eyebrows furrow. "Tell me what?"

"Well, I, uh… have a medical condition…?" Arata starts his words hesitantly, scratching his cheek. It's obvious from his face that he's trying to form proper sentences in his head so he won't say anything wrong or confusing. "I'm not sure how it works since I'm not a science man, but I've been told that I need lots of sugar in my system or my brain will shut down…? But since too much sugar will get me diabetes, I need to take insulin shots regularly too." He shakes the glass bottle he took out earlier in the air, seemingly done with his explanation.

For the other male, he feels like he had just found the last piece of a large puzzle.

Overload.

Arata's talking about overload.

The emotion he's feeling right now is akin to when you see something fragile fall and you know just before it hits the floor that it'll be break into millions of tiny pieces and you're not fast or close enough to save it, only capable of watching it reach its despairing demise in a frozen state of time.

Only in this situation, nothing actually breaks and he's left staring at Arata and the bottle he's holding and feeling so completely ridiculous at the fact that he has absolutely,  _terrifyingly_ , forgotten about Arata's state of mental health that has caused ruckus back in the day.

He didn't completely forget about it, per say. He simply left the notion be in the far crevices of his mind, the same way you always see your nose but your brain elects to ignore it because, hey, why keep thinking about something you're used to, right?

That's the reasoning he has to defend his mistake but for the life of him he can't find it in him to forgive himself. The list of sins he commits against Arata grows longer and he can feel it deep in his stomach that it'll only grow longer, never shorter, because he can't find it in him to apologize.

Especially when Arata doesn't even know the wrongs he's done to him.

"I can't really remember what it's called, but it doesn't really matter as long as I'm not dying, right?" Arata laughs, placing the bottle on the bed again. "So, dinner. Wanna call room service or should we head down?"

It takes him half a second later to answer, the time being used to recompose his thoughts. "Right... Dinner. Let's call room service."

Arata complies with his wishes without another word.

In the dark of the room, when he's sure that Arata is sleeping soundly, the blond lies awake in his bed; a million thoughts are preventing him from a visit to Dream Land. He keeps his stare on the ceiling, not that he could see it in the first place. He pretends he's staring into an abyss instead, one where he can't find where it ends.

At least, that's what he feels like.

One blow after the other, it's like he can't catch a break in this place. This is supposed to be a vacation—a holiday from hectic miserable life. They haven't even been here for 24 hours and he already wants to go back home.

Not like going home could solve his problems either; it'll just delay the progress of things.

He turns to lie on his side, facing Arata. He can barely see the other's silhouette covered under the blankets, but he can still see him nonetheless. It's not like its pitch black in here.

It doesn't take him long to realize this setting is almost the same as how their dorm room used to be back in Kamui. Two single beds—only this time, he's actually paying attention.

Back then he never really thought of how Arata looked like asleep; never really cared. The only time he was worried about Arata's sleeping patterns… was when Seledy took over the school and started 'killing' their friends. He remembers watching Arata's back in the moonlight, knowing that the redhead couldn't sleep and wanting to comfort the boy to lift his spirits.

Not one idea came to mind. He couldn't do anything that night but wish silently for things to get better.

He never was very useful compared to Arata, was he? He's sure if their positions were reversed back then, Arata… Arata would've definitely known what to say. Words fail the blond when he tries to be honest—he's not even sure if he ever does anything to make up for it.

His eyelids droop against his eyes tiredly, half-forgetting his line of thought. Arata looks so comfortable on the other bed, so relaxed and peaceful… a contrast to a memory he has in the back of his mind. His eyes don't leave the redhead's silhouette. He wonders how it'll feel to touch Arata's hair, to caress his face; to hold his body close.

How will it feel like…? He wants know. He fails to see why he shouldn't. A harmless touch, one that will—his eyes widen. The blond stops his outstretched hand from going any further. He freezes in place, trying to comprehend  _what the Hell just happened_.

Had he really tried to touch Arata whose a whole feet away on another bed? There has to be some kind of law against things like that. Why was he so desperate anyway? He doesn't understand.

Yes, he misses this. He misses sleeping in the same room as Arata, miss having to wake him up for the mornings—but that's from a long time ago. He should have moved on from that. His priority is to get Arata's memories back; not being a pervert.

He pulls his hand back into the covers and turns around to face the other side. Sleep is better than thinking about this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘Take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘Hurry back,’ or even ‘Watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."—The Curious Savage (John Patrick)
> 
> When Arata left, he knew it won't be the same. When Arata stopped contacting them, he knew he wanted answers. But when he finds Arata again, he is living a life that Hikaru begrudgingly admits is a happy one, with no memories of Kamui Island or LBXs inside the redhead's mind.
> 
> What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines? idk haha im sorry /o\ i was supposed to update this earlier but i had second doubts?? but oh well. cant escape the schedule now!!
> 
> but hey hey lookie here!! a friend of mine drew [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B9QDA5DCIAALqyD.jpg) and [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B9T-HRXCQAAhpVI.jpg) and let me tell you i fell to the floor crying. FTTFC? FFTFC! FALLS TO THE FLOOR CRYING AGAIN. FANART OF MY FANFICS? CRIES WITH JOY. I CANT BELIEVE OUT OF ALL THE SCENES AVAILABLE SHE DREW THESE I NEED A HOLD SOMEBODY HOLD ME--

Sleep is admittedly a gift of life. And from yesterday’s emotion roller coaster, he could use a bit more of this gift, even if the same gift did present him with that freakish nightmare. Unfortunately for him, he’s the type who can’t sleep again after waking up in the morning, no matter the time. Not to mention there’s Arata, who had been up and about earlier than he has—which is surprising.

Here they are now, hunting down breakfast in some local convenience store not a block or two away from their hotel. It’s easier said than done. He’s struggling to not doze off with a simple onigiri in hand while Arata can’t seem to choose what to have so he’s jumping from one shelf to the next, promptly annoying the blond because _he’s acting like a five year old in a toy store_.

“Can you _please_ take something so we can leave?” he says, sounding desperate.

“But I don’t know what to eat…” Arata whines, surprisingly similar to a kicked puppy.

The blond’s finger twitches. “Just get onigiri.”                                                         

“I’m not going to get any energy from just _that_!”

He sighs. A whining Arata is one kind of Arata he doesn’t want to put up with. He shakes his head, makes his way to the cashier and pays for his food, all the while keeping a sideways glance on Arata.

He thinks that he should choose Arata’s breakfast instead for the following days to come if he’s going to be this picky about simple food. They ate their breakfast together most of the time—Arata’s the one who cooks, because the blond can’t do that to save his life—so now that their routine is lightly disturbed, he’s like a mess of autumn leaves in the wind.

His hair is red like autumn leaves too.

Arata has always been a big eater anyway; the blond reminisces on the many times he had tried to steal his sausages in the dining hall. Not to mention he used to spend almost every Silver Credit he had on snacks. He wonders if Arata is still the reckless spender from many years ago.

When Arata comes back to the counter with an armful of ‘food’, he thinks he has his answer.

They leave the store in a bit of a hurry, with him advising Arata not to spend too much in one place. He’s not sure if the redhead heard him or it fell on deaf ears. He already has an amnesiac Arata to deal with; he doesn’t need a deaf one to add to it.

He sees Arata opening the wrapper to a spicy bun when he decides to interrupt.

“Have you taken an injection?”

He wants to slap himself, kick himself in the shin or slam his head into a wall of concrete. But even if he feels all of that, he’s serious about the question.

He just didn’t mean to say it that way.

Arata stops biting into his bun midway and he turns to look at the blond, almost with eyes of disbelief. There’s a moment’s silence that leaves him uncomfortable. But when Arata breaks into a big grin, he’s more confused than ever.

“That’s the first time anyone outside of my family cared.” Arata says. He shakes his head, still grinning. “No, I haven’t. I’ll do that when we get back,” the redhead tilts his head, a tint of pink on his cheeks, before he says, “I can show you how to do it too, I mean, if you want. I mean, you can never be too sure, right? Like maybe I fainted or something and I need it and you can—”

“Okay.”

Arata gives him a surprised but glad look. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

He just wants to help Arata as much as he can.

When they reach their room again, he finds they are talking about flowers. They had walked past a flower shop and he had made a comment regarding the flowers, stating he _did_ prefer real live flowers than the fake plastics after all.

Arata got them into a very lengthy conversation about flowers, to say the least. It’s not that he isn’t enjoying it—he can feel himself smiling, damn it—but it did feel kind of strange. Arata knows a lot about the language of flowers, apparently, because one of his friends in the band absolutely adores it and it rubbed off on the redhead.

“Can you believe that forget-me-nots actually mean true love? It’s one thing they’re called forget-me-nots.” Arata says, chuckling and sounding amused by the idea.

“I thought roses meant true love?” he replied, sitting down on his bed.

“Nah, roses just mean love in general. It’s the forget-me-nots that have the word _true_ in them. So, what flower do you like? I’ll try telling you the meaning of it if I remember.” Arata offers with a grin. He’s sitting cross-legged on his own bed, looking eager and excited to hear the blond’s answer.

He takes a few moments to think, realizing that he doesn’t really know a lot of flowers in the first place. He decides to go with his heart and say, “Carnations. I think I like carnations the most.”

“Eh… Carnations, huh?” Arata is still grinning. “That’s a fun one. A different coloured carnation can carry a different meaning. I remember reading that red carnations mean _yes_ while yellow carnations mean _no_. Amusing, huh?”

It’s not like he really cares in the first place, but it’s nice to know and see that Arata is enjoying himself.

They spend some time in their room, with Arata showing him how to properly inject the insulin and where it would be best. Arata even gets him to do it in the end, which freaks the blond out at first because _what if I mess up oh my God will he die if I mess up—_

(He manages to do it, somehow. Arata had flinched and looked nervous too, but he still encouraged the blond to go on and it worked out.)

When the sun is at its highest peak, they agree to go out again for lunch and some sightseeing. It’s only the second day, and they don’t really have much planned. They walk with a tourist map in hand, and keeping an eye out for a restaurant that wouldn’t be too much of a burden on their wallets but still have good food.

They settle for a ramen stand.

It’s a surprise to the blond that things like these still exist in this age. He supposes some things never change or fade away with time.

Arata easily makes friends with the owner behind the counter, talking with the old man as if they’ve been friends for years. And when they pay and leave, he notices how Arata’s beaming.

The redhead is wearing a simple dark purple shirt with a _Yeah!_ in bright colours and stars on the front and a pair of khaki pants with some Converse shoes. He has some bracelets made of rope and leather on his left wrist too. It’s a simple outfit and yet the blond finds himself staring. He gulps and uses all the strength he has to look away.

The blond feels a hand on his shoulder and almost jumps out of his skin.

“Hoshihara, I’ve got an idea on where we can go,” Arata says with another one of his famous grins. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

After that stunt at the beach yesterday? He can’t say he doesn’t trust Arata.

So he shrugs, and for Arata’s sake, nods his head. “Sure.”

Arata leads the way, just like the day before, and the blond follows slightly from the back. They walk by the sidewalk of the main road and he’s readings the signs but none of them ring a bell. “Can I know where we’re going this time?” he dares to ask, looking at Arata from the sides of his eyes.

“Can I make it another surprise?” is the response he gets.

The blond closes his eyes and chuckles. “Fine,” he surrenders. He’s not really curious in the first place. Because he knows, wherever Arata takes him, it will be a good place. He knows that from a long time ago, from when they were in Kamui. All he needed to do, all he needs to do, is take the other’s hand.

Arata just laughs.

“You seem familiar with this place,” the blond begins.

“I’ve visited with my family a couple of times, actually,” Arata says. “Okay, a lot of times,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “Even before I had my accident.”

That explains everything.

“And you still wanted to come here with me? Don’t you feel bored?”

“Of course not!” Arata says, raising his hands a bit. “It’s different when it’s with family. It’s different when it’s with… you.”

The way Arata said the last sentence; it leaves a _thump!_ in the blond’s chest. What is that about? It’s almost like… he’s saying…

He quickly looks away, feeling the jitters trickle up him and he rubs his forearms. He curses himself inwardly because he stutters when he says, “R-Really?” He gulps and dares himself to ask, “How is it… different?”

What is he _doing?_

Arata almost trips over his own two feet. “A-Ah, it’s like…!” he starts to say but it doesn’t sound like he’s going anywhere with it, if the fumbling and stuttering and looking at everywhere but the other means anything. “H-Hey, look, we’re here!” he suddenly exclaims, pointing at a signboard that says _Shiki no Sato_.

The blond feels his jitteriness slowly evaporate into the air and he lets the breath he’s holding go. He looks up, following Arata’s finger and reads the sign.

“Shiki no Sato?” he reads out loud. They’re not exactly there yet, they have to take a right first, but he can see the entrance in sight. “What’s in there?”

Arata holds his wrist and breaks into a light jog. He’s grinning and it’s as if the awkwardness from the earlier predicament never happened. “Come on, you’ll see!” the redhead says.

He obliges, letting a fond smile appear on his face when Arata turns his head forward so the redhead doesn’t see.

They walk through the gates and the sight blows him away.

There are a variety of colours, from pink to blue and yellow, and more than the colours are the types that greet his eyes. He can recognize at least seven in his sight and at least four he knows by name. The rest, from sky to land, are laden with flowers he doesn’t know—never seen or never heard of.

The gates that they walked through, they’re covered in green overgrowth. There are lilac-coloured flowers on the overgrowth, some blooming to its full and some still young buds just peeking out into the new world.

He can feel his breath catch and he can feel the amazement from deep inside him. He walks forward, turning his head around to get a clearer look of the place.

“It’s… a garden,” he says, barely whispering the words. “It’s a garden.”

Arata walks up next to him. He can hear the smile in the redhead’s voice as he says, “Yeah, it’s really nice, huh? I hope… you don’t mind all these flowers, Hoshihara.”

The blond is basically left speechless. So he shakes his head and says, “No, I don’t mind at all. It’s… It’s really beautiful here,” he looks to his side, to see Arata looking at him almost expectantly. “I like it.” He admits.

Arata grins again but there’s something different about this one. He seems more open, clearer—brighter, and relaxed. The blond knows he did something right by then.

The redhead gives him a tour of the garden and he’s showing him the flowers he talked about earlier. He cracks jokes, and the blond struggles to keep his poker face on most of the time. Arata must at least notice his lips twitching and the blond can see the satisfaction on the other’s face.

They walk past a water fountain and he sees a stream not far from where they are that leads to a lake. All this nature feels overwhelming after staying cooped up in the city for so long. He figures he really did need this vacation and from how Arata is acting, he thinks he can say the same in his behalf.

The souvenir shop is quite the walking distance away, deeper into the heart of the garden slash park. He sees various postcards and other knickknacks with floral themes, and fridge magnets that promote Shiki no Sato and Fukushima. He notices the shelf filled with flower dolls and plushies, where a little girl and boy are begging their parents for two dolls each.

Arata buys some snow globes and keychains, saying that his bandmates asked him for souvenirs. They walk out the shop with a _Thank you!_ echoing behind their backs from the clerk and the blond thinks everything is going smoothly so far today, and thanks to the earlier awkwardness he’s sure things can’t get worse.

But then he locks eyes with Muraku.

The both of them, he and Muraku, stop dead in their tracks—both of their eyes wide and their expressions made up of shock. The blond can’t feel his limbs but his heart is trying to jump out of his chest and his entire body feels ice cold like all the warmth slipped out the moment they saw one another.

Muraku’s eyes turn from him to the redhead next to him and then he turns back. Arata is technically doing the same thing—he’s turning his head from his flatmate to Muraku and then back to his flatmate, a look of utter disarray and curiosity on his face.

The silence drags on. Nobody is saying a word—Muraku, out of disbelief, Arata, out of confusion, and he, out of fear.

Then the parents and their two children from earlier walk up from behind the two flatmates and the children both run up to Muraku with bright grins on their faces, shouting, “Muraku-nii! Muraku-nii! Look what we got!”

Like someone had clicked the play button again, Muraku bends down to pet the two children’s heads and smile. “They look really cute. But don’t abuse mom and dad’s wallets too much, okay?” he says with a chuckle. The two children nod their heads, each of them hugging two dolls tightly.

Arata nudges him in the side with his elbow. He whispers, _“You know that guy?”_

_We both know that guy._

He swallows the lump in his throat and nods slowly to answer Arata. Then Muraku faces the parents and the blond can hear Muraku clearly when he says, “You guys go on ahead, I ran into some friends.”

And then they’re left alone again, just the three of them.

Before the silence could get pregnant, Muraku rubs the back of his neck. “So…”

And before anything else can be said by Muraku or Arata, the blond speaks. “It’s been a long time, Muraku,” he says and turns to Arata. “Sena, this is my friend from Kamui Daimon, Houjou Muraku. He was in the same virtual country as me.”

Arata beams. Muraku’s face says _What the Fuck._

“Hi there! I’m Sena Arata,” the redhead steps towards Muraku and extends a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The black haired man doesn’t take Arata’s hand. He looks too surprised, too damned surprised, to respond. He stares at Arata’s hand, and then at Arata’s face and then he looks at the blond who’s sweating through his palms and neck and just thinking _what did he do to screw up this much_.

Arata seems to get the message, he seems to understand the tense atmosphere between his flatmate and the stranger he just met, because he quickly retracts his hand and says, “Ah, I’m thirsty. I’m going back inside to get a drink!” and he disappears in two seconds flat.

He doesn’t know if he wants to be grateful to Arata or kick him later for this. He thinks the appropriate emotion would be the former. The silent tension between him and Muraku grows and he sighs, giving in to the situation.

“…I can explain.” He begins.

Muraku raises an eyebrow.

They sit on the bench next to the store and he begins telling Muraku everything. From his failed search, to the unexpected reunion, to Arata’s amnesia and everything else in between that he thinks matters. Muraku is silent the entire time, and he only speaks up when he’s sure the story is done.

“And for how long have you been with him?”

“Almost a year now, I think.”

Muraku hums. He has his hands joint under his chin, and the blond swears he can almost see the purple gloves Muraku used to wear. They’re not there anymore, obviously, because they’re replaced by a ring on one finger that makes him wonder if it’s an engagement ring.  

“And you didn’t tell anyone else because…?” Muraku turns his head to look at him.

He sighs again, this time guiltily. “Because I didn’t want anyone to meet him and realize he doesn’t even remember them.”

He knows how that feels like. And it hurt, God, it hurt.

Muraku leans into the bench, a thoughtful look on his face. “Even after all this time, he hasn’t remembered anything?”

He shakes his head. “I’m beginning to think that…” he takes a breath, “that maybe he won’t get his memories back at all.”

The words come out strained and reluctant, like he doesn’t want to believe them. And he really doesn’t.

Muraku hums. There’s a thoughtful look on his face. He doesn’t know what to make of it, he’s not sure if anything that Muraku says after this will be good or bad.

After he began his search for Arata almost three years ago, he had not expected that the search would take so much of his time and effort that he actually began to drift away from his friends. Only Haruki and Sakuya had continuously pestered him; and Muraku drops an email once in a while.

He didn’t mean to keep this a secret from Muraku, didn’t mean to keep his friends in the dark about the amnesiac Arata. Only Haruki knew of this up until now, and that was because he was there too to witness the encounter. He doesn’t know if Sakuya knows though, but he does know Haruki and Sakuya are still in close contact.

He just thought that he should spare them… what? The pain? The shock? He doesn’t know. He hopes they understand why he did this, though, if he ever gets the chance to tell them—or if he fails to recover the redhead’s memories.

Arata walks out of the shop just then.

He looks wary at first, looking for signs of a bad atmosphere or a tense aura. When he’s certain he can’t find any bad moods, he approaches them with his grin again.

“Man, I couldn’t choose what to drink!” he says, lifting up a plastic bag with three kinds of cold bottled tea.

The blond raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re going to drink all of that?”

“No, no, of course not! I bought these for the three of us but I didn’t know what your friend would like. Go ahead, you take first pick.” Arata says, showing Muraku the three flavours available.

Muraku looks amused. Like, _Why did I expect anything else from you?_

He reaches out for the green tea, thanking Arata as he does. The blond takes his pick next, taking the milk tea, and in the same time he shoves away the slight prickle in his chest when Arata and Muraku smiled at each other.

Arata is left with strawberry tea and he looks content to have it.

“So, Houjou, right?” Arata starts and Muraku’s fingers curl around his bottle tighter, but he looks up at the redhead all the same. “How was Hoshihara like back when you guys attended Kamui? He doesn’t tell me anything other than how the system works!”

“Sena!” he said with a start, taken off guard. Muraku gives him a look. And then he smirks.

“He was overconfident with himself,” Muraku begins, “and he wasn’t a good team player. He fought with his teammates a lot, refusing to work together a number of times and went against his platoon captain’s orders the first time he went into the Second World. He was always trying to outshine everyone and wanted to be the best. In short, he had a stick up his ass.”

He feels his face flush. In anger or embarrassment, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he wants to strangle Muraku and send the man to Hell and the Sun and back.

Arata himself looks quite surprised. And nervous too, if the quick glances at him is any indication.

“But,” Muraku continues, taking a sip of his green tea. “This was all before I moved to the same virtual country as him, Jenock. Now he’s different. Someone there in Kamui changed him, for the better.”

Muraku looks at him and he shrinks under his eyes. His blue eyes flicker to Arata, and their gazes catch. He blushes and looks away.

“Whoa… really?” Arata shoves both hands into his pockets, his strawberry tea forgotten in the plastic bag around his wrist. “Whoever that was, they sound amazing.” He almost sounds melancholic.

He looks up, back into Arata’s eyes, and says quickly. “He is.”

That startles the redhead.

Arata blinks for a few times, before he raises his left hand and brushes his hair with his fingers. “I… see…” his voice sounds strained, and he makes a distressed face—eyebrows furrowed, lips curled into a frown and a deep look in his eyes.

“Sena…?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry…!” a sheepish grin appears on his face. Before he or Muraku can say anything about what happened, Arata claps his hands together. “That’s right! Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hoshihara in an LBX battle before!”

He freezes.

Muraku looks at him before he looks at Arata. “You haven’t? I thought you two have been living together for a year now?”

“Hoshihara for some reason hides his LBX from me,” Arata says, accusingly. He’s still grinning, so the tone doesn’t bring much effect. “And it’s not like I can follow him to work.”

He fidgets, but Muraku doesn’t notice or pretends not to. There’s a smile on his face, small but with hidden meaning—almost mischievous.

“If he doesn’t mind it, he can fight me right now.” Muraku says, taking out a cube. He recognizes the cube immediately, and his anxiousness grows. It’s a D-Cube.

Arata looks excited. “That’s a D-Cube, isn’t it?!” he looks at him with a sparkle in his eyes. The message is clear. _Will you battle him? Please? Please? Will you?_

He sighs and gives in. There’s no way he can say no to that face.

The diorama is set up a bit further from the bench and shop, so they wouldn’t be disturbing any other visitors. The two LBX players stand opposing one another.

“What are the terms?” he asks.

Muraku gives it a thought. “General rules, with a five minute limit?”

He nods. “Sounds good to me.”

Arata stands at the other side of the diorama, looking into the miniature landscape of mountains and grass with a childlike excitement on his face.

Muraku’s the first to take out his LBX, and raising his CCM, he calls out the name. “ _Magna Cetus!_ ”

As it lands, Arata beams at it. “That looks so _cool!_ ”

He stares at Muraku’s LBX, noting how the design is as sleek as _Magna Orthus_ but the framework slightly resembles _Gunther Yzelphar_ in terms of menacing. And, of course, it’s painted with his trademark colour—violet, with shades of a deeper purple and some silver and gold accents.

He takes out something out of pocket—a silver cube that looks like a D-Cube but smaller. Muraku raises an eyebrow at it while Arata looks confused. He takes out his CCM and taps in a command.

“ _Val Spirit._ ”

The cube comes to life—cracks appear in perfect straight lines and hints of sky blue begin to show. The cracks open wider and shift around. The eyes of the two spectators widen at the sight. It’s like watching something come to life.

In a sense, that _is_ true.

The LBX in his palm transforms into its full appearance—an elegant, sleek and versatile white and blue LBX built with speed and power in mind. There are scratches in some places, where the enemies had it easiest to hit, but even if Muraku did hit the spots his previous opponents aimed for now, it won’t carry much damage to the system in general.

Val Spirit jumps into the diorama, facing its foe. The weapon it wields on the right is a _katana_ , and in the left is an obsidian _kunai_. The framework looks light, like a feather, and it feels it could float off at any given second without warning. Like a spirit.

Anyone can tell it’s a fast LBX—and he can almost read the question on Muraku’s face. _How fast?_

Magna Cetus takes out its own weapon, a gun from its Multi-Gimmick Sack with three barrels. He wonders why Muraku is using a far-ranged weapon first, instead of a sword, but he assumes he wants to test out Val Spirit’s speed before anything else.

“Cyber Lance technology, right?” Muraku asks.

He nods his head. Muraku smiles.

Arata looks absolutely ecstatic at the sight of the two LBXs, his eyes sparkling and a wide grin appearing on his face. The energy that’s coming from him is almost contagious.

“Without further delay!” Arata exclaims, holding his bottled tea to his mouth like a microphone. “We’ll now begin the match between Magna Cetus and Val Spirit! Battle… _Start!_ ”

He wants to point out that they usually say the players’ names and not their LBXs. He also wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of Arata being an overexcited emcee.

He can’t though, because Muraku begins his attack almost immediately. In his distracted condition, he lets some bullets hit Val Spirit before he gets his LBX to jump away from Muraku’s range. Magna Cetus chases after him however, and he’s left with dodging the incoming bullets in a dance. None of the bullets hit him anymore, and he can see the frustration on Muraku’s face at the realization of _Oh. That’s how fast it is._

Using a hill as leverage, Val Spirit kicks itself off the terrain and towards Magna Cetus. In that split second, Muraku barely manages to stop the katana from hitting him with his gun. But there’s still the kunai, and with hands tangled with the gun and katana, he can do nothing but take the slash it leaves on Magna Cetus’s chest.

Val Spirit jumps back and he looks at Muraku with raised eyebrows, taunting him silently, coolly. There’s a smirk lingering on his lips, however, and he can feel his chest beating from the adrenaline. Muraku notices his look and he bristles, the anxiousness evident on his face but there’s a small smile too. Arata is cheering in the background, his voice almost drowned by the blood pumping in his ears.

Magna Cetus changes its weapon, drawing its broadsword from its MGS. The attack on Val Spirit is again sudden, and he’s forced to drop his kunai because one hand is not enough to hold back Magna Cetus with his katana. Muraku’s LBX may not be as speedy as Val Spirit is, who is a blur when it runs to the human eye, but it makes up for what it lacks with unbelievable strength, befitting the name of the monster its named after.

The wheels in its heels aren’t helping, either.

Val Spirit is pushed back into a hill, and he swears under his breath. He inputs commands into his CCM rapidly and by miracle, he manages to slip through Magna Cetus by ducking under its arms and dropping its katana in the same time. Magna Cetus almost runs into the wall, but it doesn’t, and Val Spirit makes a mad dash for its kunai from earlier.

With one kunai retrieved, and the second kunai taken from the MGS behind it, he decides on a different attack pattern. Before Magna Cetus can attack again, he rushes forward and hits the violet LBX with his kunai. He runs off, only to come back again and again.

He repeats the process, using the speed of his LBX to its fullest. It’s a cliché tactic, but it’s working right now. Neither Muraku nor Magna Cetus can keep up with the speed.

Val Spirit becomes invisible.

It’s not something new. He knows this can happen—it was designed to happen. Val Spirit can go fast enough it will disappear to the untrained human eye. But because this isn’t his first time making his LBX disappear like that, he finds that he can see glimpses of it just fine.

He knows from Arata’s and Muraku’s confused looks that they can’t.

But maybe Muraku has good instincts, or he saw through the attack pattern, because Magna Cetus raises his broadsword in a peculiar angle and he realizes too late what Muraku is doing. Val Spirit crashes right into it, sending the lightweight LBX tumbling and visible to the naked eye again.

He narrows his eyes at Muraku, who gives him an innocent smug look. He doesn’t know how Muraku pulled that face off, but he did.

“Surely Cyber Lance’s precious test player can do better than this?” Muraku says casually with a shrug.

He glares at Muraku, a threatening smile forming around his lips. “Mighty words from someone who wasn’t recruited by any company.”

The two of them stare at each other for a long while, before each of their LBXs begins their attacks once more.

By the end of the five minute limit (thank God Arata kept watch of the time), neither of them is the winner. Even after all these years, even with new LBXs, and even with the large gap between their last LBX match against one another until now, they still know each other’s moves and tricks like the back of their hands—hardened into their minds from the long time they spent in War Time.

He wonders if, maybe, just maybe, Arata remembers their tricks.

“That was _awesome!_ ” Arata stresses the last word, throwing both of his hands up before grabbing the blond in a headlock, just as he’s about to retrieve Val Spirit. He yelps from getting caught off guard and Muraku chuckles, keeping Magna Cetus.

Arata is jumping up and down with his arms still around him. “You guys were totally, amazingly, splendidly, _awesome!_ I can’t find enough words to describe that battle! It’s _the best_ I ever saw! Of course, I don’t see a lot of LBX battles in the first place… but!” he stops for a while. “It’s still astounding!”

He doesn’t care if Muraku is laughing at his misery—he’s just glad that Arata doesn’t notice the red that’s dusting his cheeks from this embrace he has him in.

Thankfully, Muraku saves him from his embarrassment. “Arata was it?” _damn_ , he’s good at acting. “Maybe you should let him go now. I think he’s having a hard time breathing…”

Arata does let him go, but then he moves his hands to his face instead and looks him in the eyes carefully. “You’re okay, right? I didn’t hold you too hard?”

“I’m not fragile!” he bursts, a slight scowl on his face from being treated with care. He’s not a breakable package, thank you very much. He pulls away from Arata’s hands, feeling the warmth on his cheeks stay for a bit longer than what he would’ve liked.

Arata just laughs. “Of course you’re not.”

He doesn’t think the redhead meant it.

Muraku coughs into his hand, attracting their attention. “Now, if the two of you would stop acting like newlyweds for just a second…”

A furious blush creeps up his neck and face and he hears Arata sputter. “W-We’re not _newlyweds!_ ”

“You’re the one with the engagement ring anyway,” he mumbles and looks evidently at Muraku’s left hand.

Muraku looks confused for a moment, genuinely and utterly confused, before a look of realization settles on his face and he laughs. He raises his left hand, the ring now on obvious display. “You mean this?”

He nods his head. Muraku shakes his.

“It’s not an engagement ring, but it does act as one.”

The statement leaves him in his own state of confusion. He looks at Arata, who looks back at him with the same confused face.

He doesn’t need to ask for an explanation because Muraku provides. With a shrug, he says, “I don’t want a relationship, any kind of relationship actually. I’m aro and ace. So this ring just helps keep interested people away.”

Ah, he should’ve expected that. He watches as Muraku’s diorama returns to its D-Cube form, and the man picks it up before pocketing it. He laments on their high school lives together. Muraku had always rejected love letters, and the few lucky people who did manage to get into a relationship with him always ended up with the Violet Devil calling it off not long after.

The news didn’t surprise him. He guesses he just always… knew.

“So that’s it?” he says, scratching the back of his head. “And here I thought you were forced into an arranged marriage.”

“That’s extreme…” Arata comments with a shudder. “Arranged marriages at this decade? I’d run away from home if my parents put me up to it.”

The three of them exchange a few more words regarding the topic, with Arata occasionally laughing at something he or Muraku said. Then Muraku’s parents from earlier come back with the two hyper children in tow, and they have to bid their goodbyes.

“It’s nice meeting you, Sena Arata.” Muraku says his name the same way the blond remembers him saying it; all those years ago back in Kamui Daimon, back when the Violet Devil was in Rossius. Muraku shakes Arata’s hand, who grins. “I can say the same to you! Thanks for showing me that LBX battle!”

Then Muraku shakes hands with the blond. “It was nice fighting against you again, too. Take care, alright?”

When their eyes lock, the message from Muraku is obvious. _Take care of him too._

“You don’t have to worry too much. I’ll keep in touch, okay?” _Of course I will._

They wave him off and when Muraku is out of sights, Arata is grinning sneakily at him—a grin full of mischief. It leaves a bad feeling in his gut.

“What?” he asks, feeling quite alarmed.

“Oh, nothing~” Arata says and whistles a tune, walking towards the heart of the garden.

He blinks. “Hey, that can’t be nothing! What is it?!”

“I _told_ you, nothing!”

“Come back here!”

Arata’s laugh sounds like chimes as he chases after him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘Take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘Hurry back,’ or even ‘Watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."—The Curious Savage (John Patrick)
> 
> When Arata left, he knew it won't be the same. When Arata stopped contacting them, he knew he wanted answers. But when he finds Arata again, he is living a life that Hikaru begrudgingly admits is a happy one, with no memories of Kamui Island or LBXs inside the redhead's mind.
> 
> What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be honest, i'm not quite fond of how i wrote this chapter but oh well, i'm a little behind schedule m(_ _)m nevertheless, please enjoy!! (´◡ω◡`)

The next day, he left their hotel room while Arata slept and the sun was climbing. He knows that's kind of a shitty move, because Arata could wake up, see he's gone and panic. But he's not that careless. He did leave a note saying he went out for a bit, and will be back as soon as he can, in case Arata decides to wake up before its lunch.

When he gets back, he knocks on their room door and swallows down the nervousness in his throat. Arata should be awake by now, it is past noon. And true to his assumptions, the redhead opens the door.

"Hoshihara? Where did you…" Arata's sentence stops short when his eyes land on the blond. "…go?"

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, where previously there would have been long strands of hair covering it despite his ponytail. "Hey?"

"You… You cut your hair?"

Slowly, he nods. The encounter with Muraku from yesterday sort of hit him in the gut and he felt like he wanted a change, or needed it, if he's honest. But then the change he decided on was to cut his hair short, back to when it barely brushed his shoulders—back to the hairstyle he used to have when Arata was still in Kamui.

In the same time he tells himself, he did want a haircut anyway. It's not like he did this for Arata.

When Arata does nothing but stare, letting the seconds past by, he gulps again. "Do I look… weird?"

The redhead seems to awaken from the trance he's in, because he yelps and quickly moves aside to let him in. "No, no, not at all! Actually, you…" Arata's face flushes a light pink. "You look great."

Butterflies flop around in his stomach restlessly and his own face flushes at the compliment. He feels like knocking his head against a wall. "T-Thanks…" Why did he have to stutter?!

Arata closes the door behind him, and scratches his cheek. "So, uh, what made you cut your hair?"

He's not surprised by the question, because who in their right mind would go on a holiday and cut their hair right in the middle of said vacation. Anyways, it was a spur of the moment decision. He left this morning because he wanted to go for a jog, but then he came across a salon and thought  _Why not?_

It seemed like a good idea back then. It doesn't seem like a good idea now.

He shrugs. "I just… felt like it. The long hair was getting troublesome too."

"I see…" Arata says. Then he grins. "I mean it though, it looks great on you."

There comes the blush again. But this time he manages to hold himself together, and he replies with a curt nod. "Thanks."

Inside, only God knows how much he's leaping.

* * *

 

On their second last day, tired from all the sightseeing they've done, he and Arata both agree to hit the city around their hotel and return long before the sun would begin to set.

(Actually, it was Arata's idea. He wanted to show him around the city, apparently.)

They visit a number of shops and stores, looking around without much purpose and window-shopping with the occasional purchase of anything that catches their eye. Arata does the leading, as he's always done from the first day they've been here, and he lets him, because Arata knows this place better than he does, and because Arata is enthusiastically cute about it too.

He did not just think that.

He forces his train of thought to go elsewhere. He does not to be distracted now. Absolutely not now.

Yes, of course Arata can be cute. At times. A lot of times. But he can also be charming, or dazzling, if he wanted to. Right now the redhead is just opting to act like a child, and he's not entirely sure what to think of it.

The blond freezes in his steps and he shakes his head. He needs to stop himself from having these thoughts. They are nothing but distracting, absolutely distracting. He should not be this easily distracted. He's the composed one, the one who has his eyes set on the goal. How is he so distracted anyway?

"Hey, hey, Hoshihara look at that t-shirt! Do you think it will look good on me?"

Oh, right. Arata is cute.

"I think anyone would look good in that shirt, not just you."

"That is an incredibly roundabout way to compliment me."

"I was not complimenting you!"

"Haha, you totally were!"

"Was not! Sena? Sena, are you listening?!"

He is obviously not listening, because the redhead's attention is focused on the bus stop not far away from them

He quirks his eyebrows and nudges Arata with his elbow. "What's wrong?"

Arata points at the advertisement that covers the side of the bus stop and says, "Don't you think he looks familiar?"

He follows Arata's finger, and needless to say he practically chokes on his spit at the sight. No way. No way? He can't believe his eyes. What he's seeing can't be real. He blinks, once; he rubs his eyes, and then he blinks again.

Izumo Haruki is on the advert.

No, not  _literally_  on the advert, but his face is. Haruki is modelling for a brand that the blond recognizes as a renowned jewellery label. He's wearing a black shirt that almost looks like a tight fit, clearly lining the arm muscles and muscular body he has. There's a necklace around his neck and he's smirking towards the camera, or the spectator, or the buyer, he doesn't know anymore—but that smirk should be illegal. He doesn't even want to take note of the hand in Haruki's hair, showing off the bracelets he's wearing that just completes the entire look.

And are those  _goddamn piercings?_

His jaw drops slightly and he takes a few moments to try and recompose (or process this information) before he feels Arata nudge his shoulder.

"Hoshihara?"

"…That's… That's my friend."

"What?"

"He's my friend. The one that helped me move in."

Arata's face twists in deep thought and he falls into silence. Then his face brightens up and a hearty laugh escapes his mouth. "Oh my god, it is! You didn't tell me he's a model!"

"That's because he isn't," he scrunches his nose and looks back at the advert. "Or wasn't, I guess."

He's still trying to believe what he's seeing. Screw what people say about seeing things to believe it.

"Come on, let's take a picture!" Arata pulls him by his wrist towards the ad. He almost falls because he was still frozen in shock.

"W-What?" he stutters, because,  _what._  Why should they take a picture with an even bigger picture of Haruki behind them?

"You didn't know he became a model, right?" Arata says and positions them under Haruki's big face. "Send him this picture. That'll give him a heart attack."

He wants to say no, that's a ridiculous idea. He wants to say that maybe there's a reason Haruki didn't tell him. He wants to step away from the advert right this instant because it is a hilarious image to see two adults fighting under a jewellery ad.

But Arata is grinning, and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He does a little shake of his head and does a sigh before he lets Arata wrap an arm around his shoulder to pull him in close—he hopes he's not blushing—and lets the redhead take out his phone and take the picture.

"Aw, damn. I didn't get your friend's face. Come on, one more time!"

He fakes a sigh and repeats the process.

"Perfect!" Arata exclaims, showing him the picture he just took. He can see him, and Arata, and a Haruki in the background. Arata was grinning—of course he was—while he on the other hand was making a pretty peeved face in his opinion.

He can't help but to feel amused at the picture.

Arata sends him the image through Bluetooth, and the redhead pesters him to send the picture to Haruki already. He looks down at his phone, at the picture he just received from Arata, and he wonders again whether this was a good idea.

"Come on, just do it already!" Arata says, resting his chin on the blond's shoulder to have a look at his phone. He almost jumps but he manages to not.

"Fine," he huffs. "What should I write?"

"Something funny. Like, 'Wish you were here.' That would work!"

He stifles a chuckle and writes exactly that.

"Honestly Arata, you're such a kid." He says and it takes him a split second later to realize his grave mistake. He wants to scream.

He quickly turns to face Arata, and he sees Arata looking at him with wide eyes—an obvious sign of surprise. Oh god. This can't turn out good.

He doesn't get a chance to say anything though, because his CCM rings loud enough to make them both jump. The blond looks at his CCM and he sees that it's Haruki calling him.

He doesn't know whether to curse him or bless him.

"I, uh, I have to take this," he says hastily, turning his back to Arata and answering the call. "Hello, Haruki?"

" _I can explain."_

It takes him a couple of seconds to realize what he's talking about.

"Oh, really?" he says, trying not to sound like he took forever to answer.

There's a sigh on the other line. He can almost imagine Haruki holding his head in frustration at being caught.  _"Someone just… walked up to me and offered the job. Said I had the looks. I was in need of the money, okay?"_

"Okay."

"… _Wait, that's it?"_

"Well, yeah."

" _You're not going to scold me or anything? Or tease me, or get angry since I didn't tell you?"_

"Haruki, I'm not your mother. I don't have the right to get angry. Besides, it's your life. It doesn't have much to do with me. I just didn't expect to go on a trip to Fukushima and see your face on a bus stop, that's all."

He hears a relieved laugh coming from Haruki.  _"Thanks, because Yuno and Sakuya won't drop it. They're going to haunt me for the rest of my life about this. How's the trip going for the both of you by the way?"_

He chuckles. Then he hesitates. "Ah… It's going great. So far."

"… _What's wrong?"_

He kicks the pavement. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."

Haruki sighs.  _"Alright, I won't force you to say what's up. But don't stress yourself too much, okay? You do that a lot."_

"I hear you, Izumama."

There's a groan.  _"Don't. Ever. Call Me. That."_

"Sure thing… Izumama."

" _God damn it, Hoshiha—"_

He hangs up before Haruki manages to say his full name and go on rambling on how he's going to make his life a living Hell and how everyone in Jenock swore an oath not to use that nickname on him anymore. One way or another, he knows he'll have to pay for that. But it was worth it. Now the only downside to hanging up on Haruki is that he has to confront Arata instead.

He doesn't know what the redhead thinks about the slipup he made. He doesn't know  _what_  to think. The options are endless, limitless, and he could take forever listing them all out. But he doesn't do that.

He turns on his heels and faces Sena Arata.

Arata is grinning at him, almost excitedly, and he feels confusion in his mind. "So, was that your friend? What did he say?" the redhead asks.

"Ah…" he looks down at his CCM, then back at Arata. "He sounded miserably surprised. He told me he was recruited and that he needed the money."

"Eeh, you didn't take a jab at him or anything?"

He shrugs, closing his eyes and pocketing his CCM. "I didn't see the need to."

"Aw, but Hikaru, that's half the fun!"

His breath stops.

He locks eyes with Arata, whose grin seems much wider now. There's also a bit of pink on his cheeks, like he's embarrassed or something at calling his first name.

Who gives him the right to feel embarrassed?!

He can feel the heat rising up the back of his neck, and he's sure his face must look red right now. He struggles to swallow, and tries to say something in return, anything at all, but he can't think of anything else except  _he called my name_. Everything sounds stupid in his head and he can't even conjure up a witty comeback. It's like someone turned his Sarcastic Remarks feature off.

It's that or he's too busy falling in Arata's eyes.

They are entrancing, and he finds that he can't look away. Those indigo eyes, despite being familiar to him, have a new light in them that lets a comforting warmth blossom inside his chest. There's a depth in them too, a depth that he can't explain. He can't help the curiosity he feels and he wants to know more, to know more about the light and the depth, and to know more about the warmth he feels inside of him.

They blink and the connection is cut.

He looks away and he realizes he's breathing again.

He doesn't know when he remembered how to breathe. He doesn't even know  _what_  just happened. He rubs his forearms, feeling exposed. Even in the midst of his confusion, he has to admit—or rather, he can't deny—that he likes the feeling. It felt… nice.

Alarming, but nice.

"Ah, you don't mind it, right? Me calling you by your first name?" Arata asks, scratching his cheek. He looks quite nervous, and it's endearing.

He shakes his head as an answer. "I don't." Of course he doesn't mind it. He's been dying to have Arata call him by that name since they first met again. He just didn't know how to express it then. But now, who knew it would turn out like this.

"Then you should call me by my first name too." There's a cheeky grin on Arata's face and the blond suppresses another blush at the sight.

He keeps quiet for a bit, not for long, but long enough for him to gather enough courage. Slowly he lets the name slip out of his mouth.

"A… Ara…ta."

Screw a slip, that was more like a tumble. And this time he knows he can't hold back his blush. He looks back up and sees how Arata's face is red too. Even so, there's still a grin on the redhead's face, albeit a shyer one.

"Hi-ka-ru~" Arata says in a singsong voice, taking a few hops back. "Let's go! We have much more to see!"

He jolts at the call of his name. It sends a wave of emotions through him that he can't have them stop long enough to identify. They come and then they're gone. But he doesn't mind. It doesn't matter. What matters right now is the redhead in front of him, the same person he's taken one more step forward with.

With a small smile he shakes his head and jogs after Arata, muttering under his breath, "Weirdo…"

* * *

 

They board their train, their luggage significantly heavier compared to their first day here. It doesn't take them long to find their seats and Arata lets him sit by the window while the redhead takes the aisle seat. They settle in and soon enough their journey home starts.

Their chatter at first is of unimportant things, subjects that are easily looked over, and a reminiscing of their week spent here. But then Arata decides to ask something the blond was sure he would never be brought up.

"I realized you weren't wearing that blue jacket you love so much to sleep. Did you forget it to pack it or something?" there's a playful smile on Arata's face, like he's teasing.

The blond wants to sink deep into his seat and never come back out. But he sets his lips in a thin line and says in a tight voice, "Yeah, I forgot to take it with me."

He doesn't dare to tell Arata that yes, he did bring the jacket with him, and no, he did not wear the jacket at all because the first night he had forgotten about it, having been so tired from Arata's escapades that he fell asleep easily without it.

The same went for the second night.

And the third.

Then he realized, no, it wasn't really the tiredness taking its toll on him. It was the fact that Arata himself was there with him, just over an arm stretch away from him on another bed. The redhead's presence comforted him, in ways that he didn't think he would ever experience.

There is no way the blond is letting him know though.

They fall into silence after that, with Arata listening to music from his headphones and him scrolling through the internet on his tablet. When lunch rolls around, he takes out the  _bentou_ packs they bought from the train station earlier and hands one over to Arata, who accepts it gratefully with a hungry look.

A thought crosses his mind as he sees the passing green valleys through the window and his lunch is almost finished.

"Arata…?" he gulps after that, when the redhead looks at him. He better get used to calling him by his first name soon, damn it. "Can you tell me what it's like?" he pauses for a moment. "To have amnesia?"

Arata looks at him for a while, a contemplating look on his face that the blond doesn't know whether it spells trouble or otherwise. "Oh… Well… How do I put this…?" Arata purses his lips. "When I first woke up from my coma, I didn't have a sense of time and the world felt surreal to me, like it could break at any minute. It was even harder when I had to start my first year in high school not long after, especially when the last memory I had was being an eleven-year-old in an ice-cream shop." Arata chuckled.

"It didn't make sense to me back then, because I had the mentality of a child, but I learned to grow up fast, I guess," the redhead smiles, a sombre one. "Honestly, sometimes I still feel like I'm a teenager instead of an adult, you know?"

"Oh," he gulps again. The blond regrets asking, but he wants to know. He wants to know so much more. "And your memories? Do you really… don't remember anything?"

"That's hard to say…" Arata folds his hands together under his chin, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a little. He's staring pointedly at the floor with furrowed eyebrows, a look that's worrying the blond. "I mean, I'm not even sure if they are memories, but sometimes I get visions? Like strange scenes that don't make sense to me and people whose faces are smudged beyond recognition, but I know I know them. And once in a while, like when I'm out for groceries or something, I'm just… hit with a pang of déjà vu or nostalgia that I can't explain," he turns his head to look at him, still forcing a smile on his face. "I guess this is what happens when you don't go to therapy for these kinds of things."

He nods his head in turn, not entirely sure what to say anymore. He had been curious—he wanted to know how much of his past Arata actually remembers. It doesn't look good, from the sounds of it. Before his resolve crumbles, he dares himself to ask one last question.

"Don't you want to remember?"

He stares into Arata's eyes. This time, it's different than before. There is no entrancement, no magic or abracadabra that binds them. There's nothing but the plain truth of what's going on in each of their minds.

Arata's smile falls and it's the first time he sees him so miserable. But no words are spoken. He just stares, a look on his face that's not easily translated. It's like all emotion shut down inside Arata and his face is blank of expression—but not exactly a poker face either. There's almost a hint of surprise, however, barely there and only noticeable if one would actually pay attention.

Something breaks, he doesn't know what, but  _something_  breaks and Arata has a small, small smile curl around his lips forcefully, the act obviously out of place. His eyes are tired and the redhead leans back into his chair, holding his head as he does so.

"I can't."

* * *

 

The answer baffled him. Three days later, the answer still baffles him.

Arata had dropped the topic after that, occupying himself by staring out the window of their cart and not sparking up any other conversation on their way home save for the occasional questions like  _Did you get everything?_ Or  _Man, that was a bumpy ride, wasn't it?_

He doesn't know what to make of the answer that the redhead gave him. Did Arata mean he can't remember anything at all? Or did he mean he can't remember because his parents won't allow it? Which is it? Why isn't the answer clear?!

The blond plops down on his bed, sighing in content at the softness and familiarity of his sheets. He closes his eyes and hums, wondering, just wondering again and again where his fault was. For starters, he thinks he shouldn't have asked.

But he wanted to know. No, he needed to know. Are Arata's memories salvageable? Or are they lost for good? He knows, even in this day and age, that amnesia can be a tricky thing. Sometimes you remember everything again, sometimes you don't remember anything at all and sometimes you're stuck in between—having memories of events that don't make sense to you because you don't have the next or previous episode.

The human brain isn't like an SD card, or a computer. Memory loss there can be retrieved by experts. But with the mind, no matter how many experts Arata chooses to see, he won't remember any of it if his brain refuses to cooperate. It's like locking away that part of Arata, the LBX-loving, world-saving, Sena Arata inside a heavy chest and chopping the key into pieces, rendering Arata clueless of what he has gone through in the past.

He hopes that's not the case.

Arata himself has told him before how he never went to see any doctors to treat his memory loss. So nobody can say for sure it's impossible. Besides, he'd rather Arata remember by himself than to have the blond tell him stories of his days in Kamui Daimon. They're two different people, with two different lives then and now. What he tells Arata can never be the same as experiencing the events himself, especially when it comes to the usage of Overload.

Ask him how it felt like to be electrocuted like a barbeque, then he'll get full marks plus extra credit and an apple for a good work.

So maybe, in the end, that's what Arata meant. Not  _I can't remember_. But more of a  _I can't do it because my parents won't let me._

He needs to find a solution for this, and fast. He could try to persuade Arata, he really can. Maybe it can work out. But in the same time, maybe it won't. Arata is stubborn after all, right? He's sure it would take an army before he'd be able to convince Arata to see doctors. And even though it's been years, nobody ever said it was too late to regain lost memories.

But what if Arata doesn't want to remember…? He didn't specifically say it, but what if that's the truth behind his words, veiled behind the statement that his parents would get upset at his actions?

He doesn't know for sure, he's thinking too much over this and it's driving him  _insane._

He wants to forget this, just for a little while. To forget problems that shouldn't be ignored and put his mind to rest, only for a short moment. A distraction, he needs a distraction.

The young Hoshihara stands up from his bed, reaching out for his LBX bag and pulling on a jacket. Autumn is coming again, after all, and it'll be almost a year since he started staying here. He walks out his room, noting how Arata isn't in their apartment because he's out yet again practicing with his band from morning to late in the evening.

At the very least, they still eat breakfast together.

He locks the door to the apartment as he leaves, walking down the steps and out of the complex grounds without much thought from months of experience. He makes his way for the city, wondering whether or not Cyber Lance has any events he can show up to or any new models they want him to try out. Maybe there's a tournament around the corner he isn't yet too late to sign up for.

Distinctly, he remembers Arata promising him to take him to his band practice.

He wonders, again,  _what happened to that?_

* * *

 

Some people revel at the sight of his new haircut. Says it suits him, looks good on him. He doesn't feel much for the praise—unlike the time Arata said those words to him. He bows his head to them slightly in response and whisper thanks in his usual cool tone.

He makes his way to his boss's office after getting clearance from the desk. He already gave the man a call earlier when he was on his way to the train station.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Mr. Ashikawa asks from behind the desk with a smile. He looks neat in his suit and tie, hair tidy and gelled. "I hadn't been expecting you to call so soon after your vacation."

He shrugs. "I just wanted to ask if there's anything new I can do, like test a new LBX. I'd prefer a tournament though."

Mr. Ashikawa rubs his chin for a moment. He pulls out his drawer, rummaging through some papers, before he pulls out a thin file. "Has Val Spirit begun to be a bore you?" he asks.

He furrows his eyebrows. "No, but I do have some things to report on its performance."

"Well then, how about we go see the man who made it?"

They go down a few levels in the elevator. He honestly doesn't know what he's expecting. He looks around, eyeing the high-tech machinery and arms and people in white coats running around doing experiments for weapons, limbs and jotting down results. Some of them notice and stop, regarding the president with respect. Mr. Ashikawa greets them back with a charismatic smile.

They walk further into the floor, passing more scientists and machinery and failed experiments, when they finally cross the doors to get inside one lab in particular. The sight he sees is definitely not one he expects.

"Sakuya?" he says, his voice brushed with surprise. He blinks.

The green-haired man puts down his pencil and pulls the goggles off his face. He looks just as surprised but he grins. "Yo! Long time no see, huh?" he says, before regarding the president. "Good day, sir."

"Good day to you too, Hosono-kun."

"Wow," he shakes hands with Sakuya, looking around the room that he assumes to be Sakuya's personal lab. Then realization hits him. "Don't tell me you're the one who made Val Spirit…?"

Sakuya's grin grows wider. "I  _am_  that person!" he says in a sing-song voice. "When I found out the test player was going to be you, I begged the president for the job," he laughs. "So, what do you think?"

"That's what he came down here for, Hosono-kun. Apparently he's got a few things to discuss with you regarding the LBX." Mr. Ashikawa says with an amused smile. He looks like he's about to say more when another scientist comes in and asks to talk to him for a moment. So he dismisses himself a few steps away from them.

"Really?" Sakuya turns from where the president is to the blond. "Does it not suit your style anymore?"

He shakes his head. "No, that's not it. It's wonderful. I was wondering why… the LBX felt right in my hands. I guess now I have my answer," he smiles softly, feeling proud for his friend. "I even got to use it against Muraku."

"Eeeh, Muraku? That's great! When, where? How did it go?"

"When I was in Fukushima. A week ago maybe. We hit the time limit and neither of us won."

"Ah, that must mean you guys were on par…!" Sakuya grinned. "How about I customize Val Spirit some more? Add in some upgrades here and there. I've got a few ideas I want to try out, if it's okay with you?"

He nods his head. The idea of it is appealing. He hasn't seen Sakuya work in years and since Sakuya's in Cyber Lance he's sure the green-haired man has improved a lot. Who knows what ideas he might have in that brain of his?

"That's just perfect then." Mr. Ashikawa is suddenly back in their conversation, the earlier scientist gone. He smiles. "I've been told that one of the contestants for a tournament next week can't compete anymore due to personal reasons. Hoshihara-san, didn't you say you wanted to join a tourney?"

He widens his eyes. This is a good chance. Of course he'll join. He hasn't been in a tourney in a long time. It's a perfect opportunity. He nods his head, sure of his answer.

"How about you, Hosono-san? Is a week enough time to customize the LBX?" Mr. Ashikawa asks.

Sakuya looks at the blond excitedly, a sparkle in his eyes. "I can work with that."

"Now before you two get carried away, I have one more thing to discuss with you." Mr. Ashikawa looks at the blond too and he feels like he's under inspection from the intensity in those eyes. "I have a proposition for you. It involves your old school, Kamui Daimon…"

He didn't think he'll ever hear that name here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘Take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘Hurry back,’ or even ‘Watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."—The Curious Savage (John Patrick)
> 
> When Arata left, he knew it won't be the same. When Arata stopped contacting them, he knew he wanted answers. But when he finds Arata again, he is living a life that Hikaru begrudgingly admits is a happy one, with no memories of Kamui Island or LBXs inside the redhead's mind.
> 
> What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all i apologize for the late update, i lost track of time and got lazy and basically everything that happens to an author ahaha... but alas, i am here! with a 12, 112 word update! (THAT IS SCARY WHEN I LOOK BACK AT IT)
> 
> please enjoy! :9

"I refuse." He shakes his head. His answer is definite. No. He does not want to join that program. So what if he has experience teaching children how an LBX battle works? It doesn't mean he wants to become an actual LBX teacher, moreover at Kamui Daimon.

Sure, it sounds appealing, but again… no.

He's happy here. He's happy with Arata, and he doesn't want to let that go for a job that's not even his dream job. He still hasn't retrieved Arata's memories yet either.

Mr. Ashikawa nods his head, a slight frown on his face. "I see. But I'll leave the offer open in case you change your mind. I wish you good luck in the tournament next week. My assistant will take care of the details for you." He then leaves them to themselves.

"Why did you turn that down?" Sakuya stares at him like he's grown a second head. "That was a great offer! That's what Jin-san did, right? Become a teacher? You might get your own virtual country too if you prove yourself worthy."

"Assistant teacher," he corrects him. With a shrug he says, "I'm not interested in all that. I like living here. And besides, there's…" he trails off, looking away.

"… _That_  guy here, am I right?" Sakuya smiles softly. "Haruki told me. I'm not surprised neither of us has seen him before you came along. This city's huge."

He nods in response.

Sakuya doesn't pry any further. He stretches out his hand. "Come on, give me your LBX. You can tell me what you want to see in Val Spirit. The sooner we begin the better, right?"

* * *

 

He leaves the building, his mind filled with the suggestion from the president earlier. There's no way he's changing his mind about staying here, not for a very long time. The offer took him by surprise, yes, because he did not expect or even  _thought_  about something like this ever coming up.

Him? A teacher? The idea of it doesn't seem so strange to him. He's held a few LBX classes before in some of the more rural and small towns. The kids liked him. And that's the thing. They were kids, children just learning the basic steps of LBX battles.

He doesn't want to handle an entire classroom of annoying, growing, and bratty teens. It will be a nightmare.

He shakes his head. There's no use if he continues to think about it, he already refused. Feeling hungry, he decides to get some lunch for himself. Who knows when Arata will be home anyways?

He checks his wallet and sighs in relief when he sees that he has enough money for a meal. He's sure there's a restaurant somewhere across the street of Cyber Lance's HQ and he makes his way towards it, pondering on what he wants to have.

He is about to walk past the 7-11 when the door to the premises opens. A puff of red hair pops out, accompanied by a taller male with pitch black hair. The taller one is pushing the redhead's shoulder, laughing. The both of them are carrying bags heavy with drinks.

He stops walking. "Arata?"

Arata turns around, widens his eyes, and grins. "Hikaru!" the redhead exclaims and jogs towards the blond. "Hey, what're you doing here?"

"I just left Cyber Lance. You?"

"I'm doing errands for the ban—"

"Ooooh, now who's this little fella?" the tall black-haired man from earlier comes around and puts his elbow on Arata's shoulder, using him as a stand support. The blond has to look up to see his face and notices the other has electric blue eyes. "A friend of yours, Arata?" the stranger says.

Said redhead looks like he wants to scream. He bats the elbow off his shoulder and makes a face at the taller one. "Urgh… Hikaru, this is the band leader, Sakezawa Ren. And Ren… this is my flatmate, Hoshihara Hikaru."

He wants to laugh at the way Arata's treating his leader, but he refrains himself. He nods towards Ren, acknowledging him. "It's nice to meet you," he says. But then he also notices one other thing.

Ren's eyes are sparkling. And there's a devious smirk on his face.

"Eeh?~ So this is the famous flatmate you wouldn't let us mee—" Ren couldn't finish his sentence before Arata punches him in the gut.

"Leave." Arata snarls, glaring at the keeling captain. "You're being annoying."

"But you love me all the same!" Ren laughs, winking at the blond who looks surprised. "Don't worry about me. He does that a lot and I feel nothing each time. Even babies can punch harder than him!"

Arata raises his fist again threateningly and Ren yelps, hiding behind the blond. Inwardly he wonders how ridiculous this must look, when this giant of a person hides behind someone shorter than him. He must be at least almost two heads taller than the average person.

"A-Anyways, it's nice to meet you too!" Ren says quickly. "But it seems we have to cut this meeting short, as Arata might kill me with a poison dart when I'm not looking. Don't have  _too_  much fun; do you hear me, Arata? See ya!" and he darts off away from them –the bottles of water jumping up and down in his plastic bag as he expertly dodges the city crowd.

"Ah—! Oi, Ren!" Arata shouts after him.

He turns around to look at the redhead and the first thing he notices is the blush on his cheeks. He feels something bloom in his chest at the sight. That is the cutest thing he's ever seen.

Arata groans, scratching the back of his head as the blush slowly fades away. "Man, that guy…"

He chuckles. "I can see why you don't want to introduce me to them."

"Right?!" Arata exclaims. "They're all… so  _lively_. They'd be doing nothing but tease us the entire time!"

"What? Why?"

The blush is there again, deeper than before, and he feels another thump in his chest, stronger. "B-Because they're just like that…?" Arata says, sounding unsure.

He raises his eyebrows but he decides to not question it anymore. There are other matters at hand. "Well, if you've got nothing else to do right now, do you want to have lunch with me?"

Arata beams at the offer. "Sure! The guys can wait for their drinks."

He starts walking and Arata follows him. They're walking the opposite direction of where Ren disappeared into. "You guys have been really busy. What are you up to?" he asks the question that's been bothering him for months. He hopes he can get an answer, unlike the older and bigger question of  _'Will Arata remember?'_

Arata shifts the plastic bag he's holding to his other hand and hums. "I can tell you…" then he smirks. "But I can also not tell you."

He thinks about punching Arata's shoulder.

He does just that.

" _Ow!"_  Arata laughs, holding where his arm hurts from the hit. "I wish you'd do that to Ren instead of me."

"He did nothing to me, I just met the guy."

"Oh, he will one day. Trust me."

He looks at Arata suspiciously before he sighs. "Whatever…"

They walk into the restaurant he wanted to go to earlier and as they sit he remembers to ask Arata something. "Are you free this weekend?"

The redhead looks at him and for a second he wonders if he's going to get a joke answer again. He's about to say he's serious but Arata's faster than him. "It depends on why you're asking."

"I have a tournament on Saturday. I was wondering if you'd… like to come and watch me."

His cheeks and neck slowly begins to grow hot and he realizes how stupid that sounds. Embarrassed? Yeah he is. Arata already watched him in battle before; there should be no reason for the redhead to be interested again.

But this is a tournament.

He recalls all the tourneys he's been in before, where his dad was too busy to attend and where his mom stopped coming when the wins came too often. The tournaments after that became boring when there was no one to impress, when there was no support.

He'd like to feel it again, just one more time. That sense of accomplishment and fulfilment he remembers feeling when he won his first trophy.

And maybe he feels like showing off to Arata. Just a little bit.

A waitress comes and hands them their menus. They both flip their own open. "Saturday, huh?" Arata says absentmindedly. "It's just the day right?"

"Yeah."

Arata grins, looking up from the menu. "I'm definitely going."

* * *

 

The week flies past in a blur. He went to Cyber Lance a lot, spending time in Sakuya's lab and helping with the manufacturing of Val Spirit almost as much as Arata spent his time with his band. They couldn't see each other even more, despite living in the same apartment.

The LBX was completed, it was tested, and it was wonderful. He and Sakuya were both proud of how it came to be. Now all that's left is to see it in action on stage in the tournament.

He'll be honest. He's nervous. Why wouldn't he be? For starters, he hasn't been in a tourney in ages. The last one was like, what, a year and a half ago? And second, Arata is out there. Waiting.

He saw the redhead earlier—Arata had come to the waiting area for LBX players to meet him. He does not want to know how he got through security. That man is a wonder on his own. Arata had wished him good luck, and told him he can't wait to see him in action and that he better bring back the grand prize.

He regulates his breathing, controls himself, checking his LBX's and CCM's synchronization one last time.

With his skills and experience, and this upgraded Val Spirit? Winning sounds like a piece of cake.

He hears his name called out by the emcee and some people in the crowd actually cheer things like,  _'It's him! It's really him!'_  He feels overwhelmed by the attention but walks on with pride in his steps. He smiles and waves as the camera zoom in on him and he can see his face on the video board hanging from the ceiling.

It's nostalgic.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Arata, who looks as overwhelmed as he feels. Arata locks eyes with him and the surprised look changes into a grin and a thumbs-up. He nods in turn.

The emcee continues calling out the names of the contestants, some of them he knows because they are regulars and some he's never heard or seen of. Those must be the newbies, the rookies of the business. He wonders if any of them would be good.

"And now, let's begin the 20th annual Aptitude Games!"

He'll just have to find out.

The tournament goes by in a daze. He beats the clumsy newbies easily, and the regulars take his bait because they haven't seen him battle in public in months. Val Spirit is beautiful and graceful, every movement sharper and important, every spin and step bringing out the best. The tweaks Sakuya had done for him in design and abilities are certainly paying off.

He comes out at the top and for the first time in forever he feels genuinely satisfied with himself. He's handed the trophy and the check to the prize money—a modest amount, but a lot all the same. He can live off of it for six weeks or so.

He sees Arata in the crowd again and the redhead looks as excited as he feels, waving his arms around and looking like he wants to jump down to the battle stage to meet with him already.

This was definitely worth it.

They manage to meet eventually because Arata sends him a text telling him he's waiting outside.

He walks out of the stadium after formalities, a number of fans following him to ask for autographs and some of them ask about his LBX, how they've never seen anything like it before and if it's custom made. He answers that it's from Cyber Lance, and that he only helped the scientist there customize it and give ideas, so really all the credit goes to that of Hosono Sakuya.

When the group clears out, he sees the redhead standing by the water fountain. But he's not alone. A group larger than the group he had earlier surrounds the redhead, most of them being young girls and boys.

He raises his eyebrows because he sees Arata signing autographs on various objects with a marker, and he's smiling and entertaining the group. His indigo eyes catch his blue ones and the smile grows wider. Arata dismisses himself from the group, who seem disappointed, and hastily makes his way to the blond.

"Congratulations on winning, Hikaru! I couldn't believe how cool that was, it's like you just blew past all the competition!" is the first thing Arata says and the feeling of satisfaction from earlier comes back. But he's also still feeling the confusion from the sight of the scene earlier, so he nods in response. He doesn't know if he should ask, but he does want to know what was up with that.

"So, you don't have anything on tonight, right?" Arata asks.

"No, I don't…"

Arata beams. "Great! Follow me then, I've got something to show you."

He doesn't question it. He knows Arata loves to surprise him, so he probably won't give a straight answer anyway. As they walk, the sun slowly begins to hide itself to the other side of the world, disappearing behind the horizon. He watches as the sun's glow highlights the purple clothes on Arata's back and tints his hair.

He finds that orange is his new favourite colour.

He pays attention to the route they're taking because it's not one he frequents. It's in a part of the city he goes to once in a while, he thinks, because he does remember buying something from that shop they just passed.

They walk into an alley and Arata brings him to the backdoor of a building that leads to a basement. At least, he thinks it's a backdoor. It looks heavy.

"Arata? What is this place?" he asks as the redhead pushes the door open with effort.

Arata looks over his shoulder, smiling almost mysteriously at him. He brings a finger to his lips before stretching the same hand out. "Come on. It'll be fun, I promise."

…It's not like he can refuse. He sighs and takes his hand, jolting at the electricity he first gets and then relishing the warmth that comes after. He grips just a little bit tighter.

Arata pulls him in and closes the door behind them. It's dark, the walls are red, and he can't really see anything, but Arata seems to know his way well in this space that lacks lighting. He feels a little uneasy, but just like Arata's hand the atmosphere in this dark place isn't cold. It's quite warm—friendly even, despite the appearances.

He just wishes he can see more.

He keeps his eyes on the back of Arata's head as he leads him on. They stop in front of another door, pitch black in colour. He sees white light from underneath the door and there's a sense of relief in the back of his mind.

Arata looks at him and there's a hint of nervousness in his eyes and smile. Before either of them can say anything, Arata knocks.

The door opens and Ren looms over them.

"Oh my God. You actually brought him."

Arata swings his not-occupied hand. It doesn't connect with Ren's jaw.

He looks at Ren, who's clad in a blue shirt and grinning, then at Arata, who looks embarrassed, and raises his eyebrows. Arata sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

"The band… really wants to meet you. Especially after Leader Man here met you the other day. If I didn't bring you today, they said they were going to sabotage the lights to drop on me and make it look like an accident onstage."

He wants to laugh. So that's it? "You could've just told me." He chuckles, just a little.

Arata whines. Ren laughs, pats the both of them on their shoulders and ushers them into the room. The black-haired man takes note of their joint hands and whistles. The two of them let go hastily, faces red. Ren laughs harder.

The room is wider, larger than he expected. It appears to be a kind of dressing room, or a lounging room. The walls are cream, the lights are white on a charcoal ceiling and the floor is made up of a dark grey carpet. There's a white sofa set in the middle, some mirrors and dressing tables here and there. He notices a mini fridge in the corner and a large set of instruments in another corner. Some paintings are on the wall and a number of potted plants are set about as decorations.

There are three other men in the room, two of them lounging on the sofas and another one with long sky blue hair is at the mini fridge, choosing something to drink.

"Hey, guys!" Ren calls out. "Arata actually did it!"

One of them on the sofa, who has caramel coloured hair and wearing a red chequered shirt, rises to his feet so fast he looked like he was going to fly into the ceiling. His eyes are caramel too, and they're widened in surprise. "Holy shit. You're pulling our legs, right, Leader?"

"See for yourself." Ren says and jabs a thumb at the blond, who stands a little bit closer to Arata.

" _Hooo_ ly shit. Arata wasn't lying. You  _are_  hot." The brunet says, whistling. The other one on the sofa slaps him upside the head. He has forest green hair and a set of sharp yellow eyes that look particularly predator-ish right now. He's not wearing anything flashy either, just a simple rainbow-like hippie shirt.

His cheeks turn pink at the… compliment? He turns to face Arata, but Arata is covering his face with his hands and he can hear the redhead mumbling to himself,  _'I should've just let them kill me.'_

Ren laughs. "Alright Arata, you can wallow in regret later. The deed is done. Now, introduce him to us. Or introduce us to him. Whichever."

Arata groans, pulling his face with his hands. He shoots a glare at Ren, who he guesses is the real perpetrator, before placing a hand on his shoulder. "Guys, this is Hoshihara Hikaru. Hikaru, these are the idiots in my band."

His lip twitches. He tries to thinks of everything else except laughing.

"You know our dumbass leader, Sakezawa Ren. He's also the drummer. The brunet pervert over there—"  _'Hey!'_  "—is Kurehashi Ayato. He's lead guitar. The guy next to him is the keyboardist, Tsukuda Futori. He's the only non-idiot in the band, excluding me. The one drinking Pepsi is Shizuka Aoi. He's on bass and also the weirdo who literally lives up to his name. And last but not least," the redhead jabs a thumb at himself, "is me, Sena Arata. Lead vocals and guitar. We're called  _Plats_." He finishes off with a grin and a wink.

"My cat sings better than him though." Ayato says, possibly a comeback for the pervert remark earlier. It just earns him another slap from Futori. "Would you stop that?!" he exclaims, rubbing the back of his sore head.

Futori just sighs, crossing his arms. "It's built in my system to hit you every time you say or do anything stupid."

The blond is amused. Arata's band members are a wild bunch—that he is sure of. But they don't seem too bad. Then again, he's probably only scratched the surface.

He bows his head a little. "It's nice to meet all of you," he says, out of habit to be polite.

Ren nods his head before he comes around and grabs Arata in a neck lock. Arata yelps and Ren grins deviously; the blond wonders if it's a skill needed to become a part of the band. He's pretty sure the other three in the band can smirk like little devils too. "You still need to tune your guitar smarty-pants, the rest of us are already prepared." Ren squint his eyes at Arata.

Arata frowns, trying to free himself from the grip. "But I don't see it!"

Ayato devil smirks. (The blond called it.) "It's upstairs."

The redhead groans. "You guys are doing this on purpose!"

"Don't complain. Just do it already." Futori says.

"But—!"

"Arata. Go." This time, it's Aoi. He throws the empty can of Pepsi into the trash.

Arata purses his lips, looks at the blond, mouths an apology, and sprints for the door when Ren lets him go.

He gulps.

"So…" Ren starts when the door is fully closed and the footsteps are far away. He stands in front of him, crossing his arms and the smirk from earlier gone. "Did Arata tell you why he brought you here tonight?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Isn't it to meet you guys?"

"Nah, that's just an excuse." Ayato says, walking closer to them. "If it weren't for the thing tonight, he'd never bring you to see us. We're the worst friends a guy could ever have." He's grinning though, and the blond knows from experience he means the opposite.

"What thing?" he asks. Is this  _thing_ , whatever it is, the reason why Arata has been so busy for months?

"Our band,  _Plats_ , signed a contract with a company a few months back." Ren explains with a childish grin appearing on his face. "We've held gigs here and there since high school, sang at people's weddings and sold some CDs. But we only made our debut at this TV show produced by the same company a month or so ago and tonight is our first concert," he holds his chin. "Arata's been working hard for this night. We all have."

He takes a few moments to process this.

Whoa,  _what?_

The crowd that surrounded Arata earlier in front of the LBX stadium suddenly made sense. He didn't realize how serious Arata is about the band, about his music. He thought it was just a hobby, something to fill his free time with. It's obvious now that he thought wrong.

"And because he's worked so hard for this day, he wants you to be there to see the fruits of his hard work, I suppose." Futori says. He closes his sharp eyes, as if in deep thought. "You must be pretty important to him."

The statement causes a blush to creep up his cheeks. Him? Important to Arata? Maybe back when they were in Kamui Daimon and in the same platoon, yes. But now? When Arata doesn't remember who he was? He's not so sure anymore. He's just a flatmate, a friend. How could he be important to him?

He opens his mouth but closes it soon after. He doesn't know what to say. What is appropriate to say in a situation like this? He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore.

A sudden heavy weight settles in his chest. This is not good.

He's sure they had good intentions when they told him all this. It's good that Arata is working hard for something he's passionate for, he thinks, because Arata is just that kind of person. But now, because of that, the blond faces a new problem in its wake.

He can't take this all away by making Arata remember.

Nobody says anything else, they can't, because the door to the room swings open and a puffed out Arata stumbles in with a guitar case behind him.

"I swear if you guys said anything bad about me—!"

Ayato laughs heartily and so does Ren. Futori shakes his head and shares an amused look with Aoi.

He can't help a small smile as Arata looks at him pleadingly, despite the heavy guilt in his chest.

" _Oh my god._ They didn't."

"Relax Arata, chill!" Ayato laughs, clutching his gut. "We couldn't even start anything; you came back way too fast!"

Arata doesn't seem to buy it. He looks at the blond again. He's using his kicked-puppy face. "Please tell me it's true."

There's a moment of silence as everyone focuses on him. He decides to play a little by shrugging. "Maybe."

Arata pales. Ayato and Ren laugh harder. This time Futori is snickering too and Aoi's lips are twitching.

"You guys are horrible!" Arata shouts at them. He grabs the blond by his shoulders and stares into his blue eyes intensely. That takes him by surprise. The close proximity causes him to blush. "Whatever they told you, whatever it is at all,  _I can explain._ "

One second passes, then another, and then he finds that his shoulders are shaking and his hand is covering his mouth to hide his smile as he suppresses his laughter. He slowly bends over, almost leaning against Arata's chest, no sound coming out of him but the curbed laughs.

"T-They r-really…" he tries to breathe, pulling back. "Said n-nothing…"

Arata's face becomes a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Then that means  _you_  just played  _me!_ " the redhead exclaims, pointing a finger at him.

He bites his lip, still trying to stop laughing. He raises his hands and shrugs. Arata just jaw drops at him.

"Oh man," Ren starts, leftovers from his laughing fit earlier slowly disappearing. He coughs into his hand, the other one resting on his hip. "He's a keeper, Arata. He's a keeper."

Arata's face goes bright red almost immediately and he closes his mouth quickly. The blond half-expects Arata to throw another punch at the taller male, but he doesn't. His face is still red and he's pressing his lips together in a quivering line.

Realization comes to him only a little while later.

_Oh._

Now his face is deep red too. "W-What?" he stutters.

Arata blinks and he breaks out of his stupor. He glares at Ren, though the menacing effect decreases drastically because his face is still red. That doesn't mean the intention to kill isn't there. Ren just grins back at him.

"Okay, okay," Futori claps his hands together, catching their attention. "Cut it out, Ren, you're killing him with embarrassment. And Arata, did you even tune your guitar?"

Arata pouts. "…Not yet I haven't."

Futori sighs. He pulls Arata by the ear, despite the redhead's protests, and continues to scold him.

"H-Hikaru, save me!" he calls out.

He just shakes his head, chuckling. "You're on your own for this one, Arata."

"But—!"

Arata is dragged away to the furthest corner with all the instruments, where Futori continues to scold him for his immatureness. Ayato and Ren snicker with each other, taking joy in the misery of the redhead. Then, there's a knock on the room's door.

Ren cups his mouth and says, "Come in!"

It opens and a woman, more or less his age, walks in. She's wearing a black shirt with fake gems littered on the front. "Hello gentlemen," she says with a glint in her green eyes. She blows a stray strand of brown hair away from her face. "We're ready for a last sound check. And after that, it's good to go."

Ayato whoops. "Nice!"

"Thanks for telling us, Arisa-san." Ren smiles sheepishly at her, a bit of pink on his cheeks. "And before you go, can I ask for a favour?"

Arisa tilts her head but nods. "Sure, anything for you!" she smiles, giving a thumbs-up.

Ren's blush deepens but the woman doesn't seem to notice. "W-We need, uh, I mean, can you show him to the audience?" Ren refers to the blond

Arisa takes a look at him and smiles. "Sure thing!"

Ren turns around and says to him, "Y-You can leave your bag here. It's going to be a long and exciting night."

He complies, placing his bag on an empty table and taking the important things to shove in his pockets like his CCM, wallet, and his LBX-in-a-cube. "I guess I'll see you guys later then?"

Ren nods at him.

He nods back. "Break a leg."

He's about to follow the woman out when someone taps him on the shoulder.

He turns around and it's Aoi. The blue-haired man holds out what appears to be a red pass towards him. He takes it, eyebrows raised. "What is this?" he asks.

"A backstage pass. Each band member gets two for either friends or family. Arata hasn't given his passes to anyone yet, but I figure you're going to need it."

"Oh." He looks at the pass in his hand, a mild feeling washing over him in his chest. "Thank you." He says as he hangs the pass around his neck and notices how it has Arata's signature at the bottom corner. He smiles.

* * *

 

When he's brought to the spectators' area, there are already many people waiting. The lights are still on and Arisa helps find a place for him on the second level, where there were chairs and a little less people.

She doesn't initiate small talk nor does she pry for information about him. To him, she seems like a professional, and she almost intimidates him with her aura.

She points to one area that's close to the stage but not too close, giving him a clear and comfortable view. "Is this okay?" she asks, still smiling.

He nods gratefully at her. "It is. Thank you."

She smiles at him. "You're welcome. It's my job, after all. I'll be in the sidelines, in the backgrounds, so just look for me back there if you come around trouble during the show, okay?"

He nods again.

"Good. Enjoy the concert!" she calls out before disappearing down the stairs.

He settles into a chair, feeling like he's in a cinema with the soft cushion seats and the cup holders on each armrest. He's not the only one on this level; there are a lot of other people around him but it appears that the most people prefer it down there, on even flooring and far closer to the stage where they could enjoy themselves better.

It takes a while more of waiting before the curtains are pulled up, and some time before that happens, he gets a bottle of water from Arisa. She says Arata told her to give it to him. He thanks her, hoping there isn't any pink on his cheeks.

The lights turn off abruptly and the crowd below hushes.

He hears them before he sees them.

The strums of a bass and a guitar fill the hall; he leans forward a little in his seat to see clearer. Spotlights from behind the stage light up and wisps of smoke fill the air, from a fog machine he guesses. He can see the silhouettes of two people onstage with their string instruments and the crowd cheers so loud he thinks his eardrums are going to burst.

Then he can hear the drums, the keyboard, and another guitar joining the parade of strings. The smoke clears and he sees Arata standing in the centre with an electric guitar, wearing a white button-up shirt with large black polka dots, a yellow tie around his neck and maroon pants. He stops strumming and grins into the microphone.

He sings.

Most of the crowd throws their hands up, cheering. A number of them appear to know the song, because they're singing along, and the energy in the modest hall increases tenfold.

He sits there frozen, entranced by the excitement. Most of the people on the second level are standing now, leaning on the railings to get a closer look. He's heard Arata sing before, when he's practicing, when he's writing songs and when he sings along to the songs on his iPod.

But this is different.

Seeing Arata onstage, all donned up and playing his electric guitar like a seasoned pro, it all gives him a different feeling. He can't quite name it, because he's never really felt this way before.

So he continues to watch, eyes focused solely on the redhead in centre stage as he plays. He feels something pull in his chest, something he doesn't recognize, and something he can't explain. He doesn't know what it is. All he knows is that he's in a magic spell, and the caster is Sena Arata.

The first song ends and Arata greets the audience.  _"Heeeey!"_  he holds onto the microphone and grins.  _"How's everyone tonight?!"_

The crowd cheers in reply.

" _What's that? You want another song?"_

They cheer louder.

The strings and beats start again, this time into a different melody.

He doesn't have the appropriate words to describe the event. The songs keep coming and it feels like the band doesn't get tired of playing.  _So this is a concert_ , he thinks. He's never been to one and… he's glad somehow that this is his first. It's a whole new experience for him.

The band takes a break and the lights are turned off. Nothing happens for a while and the crowd grows restless. He begins to wonder if anything happened backstage and whether or not he should go to check.

But then an electric guitar breaks the silence with its strumming. The sudden music takes him and most others by surprise.

The lights turn on, blinding them, and he squints. It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust and when they do the first thing he sees is Ayato playing his guitar. The brunet is performing alone and the lightshow fills the hall with red and blue flashes. The crowd is in an uproar again at the spectacle.

He feels his jaw drop. Is this what they call a guitar solo?

Then another sound takes him off guard. From what he hears, it's an electric guitar too. The new set of strings compliments the ones Ayato is playing and soon enough the second player joins the brunet onstage.

Arata walks in casually, his fingers quick and nimble on his white and red guitar. There's a lollipop in his mouth as he and Ayato grin at each other.

They're wearing different clothes than before. Just normal t-shirts you'd find any teen wear when they're out. The song continues and soon it seems like the two guitarists are in a battle. They're facing each other more than the audience and it seems as if they're trying to prove who between them is a better guitar player. They even take turns playing, showing off their skills one by one.

It's not long before the rest of the band joins them. A second curtain unveils to reveal Ren and his drums, Aoi walks in with his bass slung over his shoulder while Futori makes an appearance with his keyboard soon after. The voiceless songs continue and it becomes a showdown on who can play their instrument with the same song better. It feels like an explosion of sound. The crowd loves it—anybody could tell from the way they're reacting.

He can feel the energy electrify him. He wants to go closer, to see them closer. The second-level doesn't provide much of an experience. It's definitely far more comfortable with the seats and the space to breathe unlike below. But he doesn't think it's enough. So he stands up and finds the stairs to go to the lower level.

He's met by a wall of people jumping slightly on their feet. He can hear the band in front and see the lights lighting the ceiling, the walls, and the dark silhouettes of the crowd blocking his way. He clenches his fists and snakes himself forward.

People jab at him, cuss at him, but he doesn't care. He wants to go closer. He lets the momentum of the crowd push him forward and soon he's at where he wants. He can see Arata and the rest clearer here. The music is louder too and he can feel it in his chest. It's different here. It's far different.

He has his eyes on Arata when their eyes lock. Arata looks surprised but he quickly grins, finishing off the note he was playing with more flair than previously.  _Show off_ , the blond thinks.

He loses track of time, watching  _Plats_  play and sometimes making eye contact with Arata. Not that the time particularly matters. It feels like hours or maybe half an hour later, he doesn't know, he can't tell, he doesn't care, when the band takes another break and the stage is dark.

A very dim light illuminates the stage from the top. Nobody is seen on the stage until a shadow walks onto it. He's pulling a chair with him and one can see the silhouette of a guitar too. Not an electric guitar, but an acoustic guitar. The figure sits with the guitar on his lap in front of a microphone stand and a spotlight is turned on. It's aimed towards the figure.

Arata waves.

More figures follow his lead. The rest of the band members are carrying chairs too and each holds a different instrument from the usual. Ren is holding a box, he thinks, which is peculiar. Futori is holding a tambourine; Ayato and Aoi are not carrying anything but microphones. Ayato and Ren sets themselves on Arata's right and Futori and Aoi settle on Arata's left.

Aoi taps his microphone.  _"Is everyone enjoying the show so far?"_ he smiles.

The crowd cheers.

" _We've riled you up good, huh?"_  Ayato smirks into his mike.

"Let's wind down for a bit." Arata strums a familiar tune, one that makes the blond think of a star studded night sky and a night in their living room scattered with the redhead's notes and pencil shavings. Arata sings and the blond feels himself brighten.

_WHISTLE ya CHIME ni sekasare sugiteku hibi  
furikaereba waraeru no kana mugamuchuu mo_

Ayato continues the song after him, followed by Aoi. Futori plays his tambourine and Ren taps a beat using the box.

He feels a smile tug at his lips. Hearing Arata sing this song when they were home was nice, but this? This is better. And knowing that he helped, even with just a little part of the song, makes this all the more worthwhile.

Arata looks at him again as he sings and winks. He shakes his head in return fondly, not realizing his smile is still there.

It goes on like this for a while, the band singing slow and sentimental songs. The crowd calms down and they begin to rock themselves sideways to the music. He didn't expect this to happen. He expected  _Plats_ to perform only upbeat and energetic songs. He was proven wrong.

Another thing he doesn't expect to happen is most of the band leaving the stage after a song is over. And by most, he means everyone but Arata. They all take their chairs and instruments with them, and Ren claps the redhead on the back before he leaves. All four of them are smiling like they're holding the biggest secret in the world.

Arata clears his throat.  _"So, uh…"_  a blush creeps up his cheeks.  _"I can't believe I'm doing this but… this next song is one I wrote for a special someone here today."_

The crowd makes a noise. He feels his heart skip a beat.

Because when Arata said that, he was looking right at him.

Arata tests a few strings before he plays. He takes a breath.

_What would I do without your smart mouth?_   
_Drawing me in, and you kicking me out_   
_You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down_

It's a slow song, with nothing but the strums of the guitar and Arata's voice to complete it. And even though it's a slow song, it's a powerful one. It's filled with emotion. It takes him a few moments later to realize why the song is leaving such an impact in its wake.

Arata's singing it from the heart.

_'Cause all of me_   
_Loves all of you_   
_Love your curves and all your edges_   
_All your perfect imperfections_

When Arata sings those lines, those indigo eyes flutter to where he is and their eyes lock again. Arata's cheeks turn a little pink but a grin forms on his face. His singing goes on, still strong.

_Give your all to me_   
_I'll give my all to you_   
_You're my end and my beginning_   
_Even when I lose I'm winning_

The blond clutches the backstage pass around his neck. Even though Arata isn't looking at him anymore, he can still feel the shock of the moment through him. He lowers his head, suddenly finding that looking at Arata is an impossible task. What… what is going on?

He rakes his mind for possible conclusions but he keeps on focusing on one idea he thinks is ridiculous. It's so ridiculous he doesn't want to believe it.

 _No way…_  the blond can feel his cheeks burn at the idea of it.  _No way… right?_

He looks back up and Arata's eyes are on him again.

_The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood_   
_You're my downfall, you're my muse_   
_My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues_   
_I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you_

Arata's eyes turn back to the general crowd.

He releases the gasp he was holding. His hand reaches up, covering his mouth. He feels like his heart is trying to jump out of his body. It stings… And yet, he feels like he's… he's flying.

He doesn't want to believe this. He can't believe this. He knows he can't, he really can't and he really shouldn't, but still…  _but still…!_

The tears come to his eyes. He's that special someone…? It's him? It's really… him?

He thinks about it and there's really, really,  _really_  no other possibility. It's just as Futori said—Arata wanted him to see him in his glory. Why? Because he is special to Arata. So the redhead brought him here, to this concert he worked so hard for, and Arata decided to confess his feelings right here, onstage, in what is potentially the cheesiest way the blond thinks is available.

Is it counted as another sin for him to feel happy?

He wants to laugh. He wants to laugh from the giddy and warm feeling he gets but there's another emotion that's just as strong as the sappy warmness binding itself in his chest and causing him to frown—guilt.

That heavy weight pulls him back down to earth and he flinches. He can't. This can't happen.  _They_  can't happen. Even though he wants them to, so badly, he absolutely can't.

He can't break the bubble that is Arata's perfect world.

"— _And to that person, I hope you understand how I feel for you."_  Arata says. It's a wonder that he's not stammering yet, his ears are bright red.

Has the song ended already? He didn't notice. But he can't find it in himself to look back up. He can feel Arata's gaze on him. The spectators around him all whisper and chatter excitedly, curiously, all of them wondering who this 'mystery person' is. Some people in the crowd laugh and catcall, the excited cheers from some of them growing louder.

Arata leaves the stage, the light dies down and the curtain falls.

Is it over? Maybe it is now. Some people are leaving. But he doesn't find it in him the ability to move to the backstage, to that dressing room or whatever, and come face to face with Arata. He fiddles with the backstage pass he got, wondering how things became like this.

He stands there motionless before he realizes the crowd is chanting something. They're repeating the band name,  _Plats_ , over and over again. He raises his eyebrows, a little confused. Nobody is leaving the hall anymore and the crowd is beginning to shake their fists too.

The lights turn back on and he understands now that they were asking for an encore.

All the band members are onstage again and the crowd goes wild. They're all wearing simple white shirts this time. The music fills the hall once more as they play another upbeat song, a remix of one that they already played earlier.

They play one more song after that, join hands when it's done and take a bow together. They wave their hands to the crowd and the crowd waves back enthusiastically. Arata looks for him and blushes when he sees him.

He blushes too and looks away.

 _Plats_  leave the stage for real that night.

* * *

 

He wanders around, watching as the staff backstage moves about to wrap things up. He's doesn't know what to do right now. He doesn't want to go to the band's dressing room immediately. He's not ready. He's not sure he can face Arata so soon.

He turns a corner, feeling out of place as people in black t-shirts run about with an air of importance to them, getting tasks done and communicating commands to one another. He hides himself close to the wall, watching the orderly chaos in silence as he thinks about what he should do now and hoping nobody would think much of his presence and continue on with their work.

If he goes back— _when_  he goes back—he'll need to answer Arata. He can't leave the man hanging.

The predicament is… what  _is_  his answer?

He didn't mean to make Arata like him that much, to the point of writing a song for him. He didn't mean for any of this to happen. He just wanted to be closer to Arata, to have him remember his teenage days again. To remember him, remember Haruki, Sakuya, Muraku and the others and everything he accomplished with them in Jenock. But all of that is proved to be harder than he anticipated. Now things will be harder because Arata has feelings for him. And it's not only that…

He didn't mean to grow feelings for Arata either.

The blond closes his eyes. His chest stings and his eyes do too. He's happy. He's far too happy. How couldn't he? Finding out that the person you like likes you back… It makes him feel like he's on cloud nine. He wants to go there right now, to tell Arata that his feelings are reciprocated, but what then?

What would happen to them then?

He doesn't know.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and he jumps, quite possibly five feet into the air.

"Whoa!" Arisa looks just as surprised as he is, with her hands up in defence. "Easy there, I'm not here to kill you. What're you doing here? Are you lost?"

He sighs of relief. The woman surprised him, that much is obvious, but he's relieved it's just her. If it had been one of the  _Plats_  members, let alone Arata, he won't know what to do. Or more accurately, he won't know what he'd do. If it had been any other member but Arata, maybe he'd be able to confront them.

If it had been Arata, maybe he'd run out of embarrassment.

Slowly he nods his head to answer Arisa. It's not like he's lying. He really doesn't know where he is. "Yes, I couldn't find my way back."

Okay, that might be a  _little_  lie.

Arisa smiles, looking amused. "Didn't I tell you to look for me if you needed anything? Come on, I'll show you where the dressing room is." The brunette turns on her heels, beckoning for him to follow her with her finger.

He walks behind her. Unlike earlier, she seems a bit tired because her voice isn't as energetic as before but her steps are still strong and fast. She must have done a lot behind the stage, he thinks. Everyone did so well they all deserved a break.

She looks over her shoulder and eyes the backstage pass resting against his chest. She tilts her head, a curious look on her face. "Are you Arata-kun's special person?"

He sputters, the blush creeping up his neck and ears. "W-What?"

A slimmer of a grin reaches her lips. "I think it's pretty obvious. I noticed he kept eyeing the same spot in the crowd and I also saw how you weren't on the second floor anymore. Plus, you're the only one with Arata's pass," she turns her head back to the front. "He sure took us by surprise with his little speech. The staffs were curious when he asked if he could perform the last song a solo," she laughs, hearty. "Now we know why."

He crosses his arms, hugging himself and wishing he could curl into a ball and maybe disappear into nothingness. This is the most embarrassing thing he has to go through…! He didn't think she'd decide to talk about  _this_  of all matters. Is Arata's confession really the talk of the staff and the people who came to watch the concert now? He hopes not, though that might be futile.

They arrive at the door and Arisa knocks and the first thought that crosses his mind is  _Oh no this is too soon this is way too soon I'm not ready I can't do this._

The door opens to Ren.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed.

Ren makes a face between surprise, discomfort, a smile and a blush. "O-Oh, hey, Arisa-san! I see you brought—"

Ayato barges in between Ren's arms and screams. "There you are!" he shouts and pulls the blond into the room by the arm. In the process, the brunet manages to push Ren out towards Arisa and close the door behind him. "Arata's going crazy with the jitters! What happened? Did you get lost? Arisa was with you so that must be it. You got lost, didn't you? Phew, I  _was_  right. I told the guy not to worry so much!"

It's amazing how a few years back the term 'lost' had such a different meaning for him compared to now.

The bullet train of questions bewilder him and he's not sure if he should even answer any of them. But he nods anyway, because that's better than nothing. Did Ayato even see him nod? Who knows.

But Arata is worried? Uh-oh.

Ayato pushes him towards the sofas, where he sees Aoi and Futori hovering over the three-seat sofa from the back with concerned looks on their faces. When he's close enough he can see that the third person on the sofa is Arata. The other two look up when they notice them approaching and he gulps.

Futori stretches a hand out to the redhead lying down on the sofa and says, "Don't look now but your sweetheart's back."

He feels himself blushing harder.

"Hikaru?!" Arata nearly shouts. He sits up so fast he almost rockets off the sofa. The redhead blinks a few times before he blushes too, realizing the term that Futori used. He turns to the said man and slaps his hand away. "Leave me alone!"

Futori just snickers. "As you wish."

The sharp-eyed man turns away from the sofa. Aoi follows him and together they both pull Ayato from the blond, the brunet struggling for freedom. "H-Hey what're you guys doing I want to watch—!"

"Shut up, Ayato." Aoi says.

"Where are you guys going?! Futori! Aoi! That's not what I meant!" Arata shouts from the sofa, looking flabbergasted. His jaw drops when the door to the room closes behind the trio.

Silence falls between the two of them. The blond rubs his arms, unsure of what to do or say. They're awkward again, after so long of being comfortable and warm around each other. He realizes he doesn't like this awkwardness. He realizes he doesn't like the idea of being distant from Arata even more.

"Hikaru, about earlier, I'm sor—"

He walks forward and holds Arata's cheeks.

And then they're kissing.

He doesn't recall who started it, maybe it was him, maybe it was Arata, maybe it was both of them, but it didn't matter. It doesn't matter. An explosion occurs in his chest, in his head and on his lips. He feels his hands that are on Arata shake. Arata's own hands circle around him, settling on his neck and in his hair, and he's pulling him closer and closer till he's on the sofa, straddling Arata.

He pulls back, only to have Arata chase after him and they're kissing again and he feels like he's losing his mind in a show of fireworks. He pulls Arata closer, pushes himself forward, not feeling satisfied, wanting more of this, wanting more of Arata, wanting and wanting…

When they break the kiss, both of them are gasping for air and their faces are flushed with heat. He rests his forehead on Arata's, their noses almost touching. He still has his arms around Arata's neck, and Arata has his around his waist, fingers holding him tightly.

Their eyes lock and Arata exhales.  _"Wow."_

He kisses the redhead again, gentler this time, but the explosion he feels is just the same as the first kiss. "Don't ever tell me you're sorry for what you did onstage, idiot."

Arata grins. "Maybe if I get another kiss like earlier—"

He pinches Arata's neck.

"Ow! Ow ow  _ow!_ Hikaru!"

He buries his face in Arata's shoulder, breathing in the redhead's scent. He mumbles quietly, "You're a sap."

Arata plays with his ponytail, curling strands around his finger. They are silent again but it's a different silence compared to earlier. It is soundless warmth, a mutual understanding, and a breeze of emotion going back and forth between them.

Or maybe that breeze was just the air conditioning.

His hands are shaking still and Arata pulls them back to hold them, kiss them. "Are you… scared?" Arata asks with his voice low and hesitant.

Is he scared?

What they've had up until now had been good, wonderful even. He doesn't want to lose that. If they… if they take another step forward, another step closer, and crossing the borders that lie between them… would all of that be lost or… will they become something even more? Would things be the same or will they be different? So different, that he'd rather take that step back into the comforting safety of his cocoon where everything is familiar and Arata is just a friend?

Maybe he is scared.

He doesn't know what will happen in the future, he doesn't know what will happen to them, and he doesn't know what will happen when Arata finally cures his amnesia.

But when he sees Arata's indigo eyes looking at him, with a certainty so sure and hard, he decides those are questions that can be answered at a later time.

So he kisses him once more.

Maybe he isn't scared, because Arata is here with him too.

* * *

 

When they leave the room together, hand-in-hand like the first time they walked in, the band members are lingering outside with cheeky grins on their faces. Arisa is with them too and she looks equally amused.

Arata turns red. "Don't you—"

"Having his first concert and getting his first boyfriend in one night? Arata's on a roll. I'm almost jealous.  _Almost._ " Ayato snickers, covering his smirk with a hand. Futori is smirking too and he fist bumps Ayato.

The blond blushes a little but he keeps his cool.

Wait.  _First boyfriend?_

"I'm your first?" he turns, looking at Arata.

Arata's blushing so hard his ears are pink too. He looks down and scratches his head. "Well, you're the first one I'm emotionally invested in…" the redhead grips his hand tighter and smiles at him. "And I'm glad that's a fact."

He feels like punching that smile off his face. Does he think he looks cute saying that?!

Well, he's absolutely right. But it's not like he'll say it out loud.

So the blond settles on hiding his face in his free hand instead, wishing he could just disappear. At this rate they're going, he might need an ambulance before the night ends. His heart is beating way too fast.

"Haha, alright, let's get the party started!" Ayato cheers, throwing his arm up, and the other arm snaking itself around Futori's shoulders.

"Party?" he asks Arata.

"Yeah, the after party… It might take a while longer before we get to go home."

"Oh…"

He grips Arata's hand tighter. Arata returns the gesture. They're looking at each other from the corner of their eyes and he feels warmer, fonder.

The group starts to move deeper into the building and he's about to follow them, but Arata pulls him back. He raises his eyebrows at the redhead. "Arata…?"

"Do you… really want to go there?"

"…Huh?"

"I mean, do you really… want to go to the party?"

He ponders on it for a second before the realization hits him.

_Oh._

The blond fidgets before he shakes his head. "Not… really…"

Arata grins.

* * *

 

They run. The night air is cold on their arms and cheeks. He doesn't know how far they've run. After Arata asked him that, the next thing they did was escaping the premises. The city streets are empty and most of the shops are closed as they run the few blocks they are able.

He takes deep breaths with his hands on his knees when they stop, each intake of air a sharp jab in his lungs from the low temperature. Arata does the same next to him, except he's standing and he's panting less. He wonders whether he's more out of shape than Arata is. Maybe he should take up kendo again. He can't even remember the last time he ran that much.

Arata laughs. "They're going to kill me when they realize we're gone."

He chuckles. "You'll live, somehow."

"Are you telling me you won't come to save my ass?"

"I don't own a shiny armour to go with my non-existent white horse, princess."

They look at each other after that and laugh.

"The trains aren't in commission at this hour…" Arata says

"And it's a long walk home."

"I'll call a taxi then."

"Are you sure?"

Arata grins, slyly. He takes a step closer to him and then their faces are close to each other their noses are almost touching. "What? Are you telling me you want to spend the night at a love hotel?"

He blushes twenty shades of red. He splutters, caught by surprise. He tries to move away but he loses his balance instead and wobbles. Arata catches him by the waist, steadying him, and the shit-eating grin is still on the redhead's face.

He wants to punch that grin. He also wants to kiss it.

He does the latter.

Arata pulls away to say, "I'm still holding on to the love hotel offer," and he kisses him again harder to shut him up.

Afterwards he whispers into Arata's ear,  _"Pervert."_

* * *

 

The ride home in the taxi was anxious, impatient. He wanted the car to go faster; he wanted to reach their home earlier.

He and Arata held hands the entire way. At first it was Arata who traced circles on his hand with his thumb, and when Arata stopped he started doing it to his hand. Although they weren't looking at each other— _trying_  to not look at each other—he could easily tell that Arata was anxious too.

When he closed the door behind him, locked it and turned around, Arata's lips were on his almost immediately.

His eyes shut tight and his hands found way into red hair, pulling and pulling Arata closer to him. Arata pushes himself against the wall; he can feel the rough texture on his back. He can feel Arata's hand on his neck too, moving from there to his chin and to behind his head. Arata's other hand snakes under his shirt, touching his abdomen and going up his chest and he gasps because he's getting warmer, hotter, and Arata's hands feel so good.

" _Arata…"_  he breathes the name, savours it. Arata responds by kissing his neck and he moans.

He raises his trembling hand, pulling Arata's head up so he can look into those beautiful eyes. There is a gleam in them, one he's never seen in them before. It isn't mischief nor is it melancholy. It is something deeper, stronger, something that makes his heart throb.

He gulps.

"The… bedroom… please…"

His eyes glint before he smiles. Arata picks him up like a princess and staggers a little as he laughs. The blond yelps before throwing his arms around Arata's neck. "W-What are you doing?!" he gasps.

Arata doesn't answer him. He carries him deeper into their apartment, kissing him again and again, not letting him rest. His head is swirling in the heat and he can feel himself slipping his grip but he tries to stay focused on being alert, and not melting in Arata's arms.

He doesn't know how Arata unlocked the door, or if it was even locked in the first place, or whose room it is because he can't see anything in the dark but Arata's violet eyes. He feels Arata's calloused fingers from the years of playing the guitar, tracing the outline of his body like a music sheet, and he tastes Arata as the redhead slips his tongue into his mouth.

When Arata pulls away, he's lying down, his hair a mess and his shirt halfway up and he can hardly breathe. This is worse than when he ran earlier. Arata is over him, hands on the sides of his head and trapping him on the bed with no openings to escape.

Yet, he lingers.

The blond lifts a hand up, cupping the other's cheek with raised eyebrows. "Arata…?"

Arata purses his lips. He places his hand over his. For the first time in a long while, he actually looks nervous. And it tickles the blond's heart.

"Are you… sure about this?" Arata gulps.

He blinks, eyes clearing. He doesn't catch on to what Arata's talking about for a few seconds, and when he does he smiles fondly. He leans up and gently kisses Arata, just a brush of the lips—far unlike the other kisses they've had until now.

"Yes, I am."

That is all that's needed to be said.

* * *

 

The first thing that comes to mind is how his back hurts.

The second are the warm arms that surround him.

He opens his eyes slowly, the ache in his back and body a dull pain. He wonders why it hurts so much, when the events of last night strike him like a lightning bolt. He presses his lips together and blushes.

They just got together and they went that far.

He admits it, it's not like he didn't want it to happen in the first place. He just didn't expect it so soon.

He snuggles in closer, breathing in Arata's scent, and wondering why this didn't happen sooner. Why he thought that just being friends was enough for him. Why he didn't think of taking the next step himself. Being this close to Arata feels like a dream, even though he just woke up from a deep sleep.

…But as it is, all dreams end.

He sits up, pushing Arata's arms away gently, careful not to rouse him. The blanket hangs loosely around him. It's not the blanket he always uses at night. So, he was carried into Arata's room last night, huh?

The sunlight streaming in from behind the white coloured curtains helps him see. He looks around, taking noteof the posters of bands, posters about music and concerts, and a shelf of books, a study desk, and another guitar he doesn't see often in Arata's hands on its stand in one corner. The walls are a deep kind of red, like the colour of wine. It almost feels romantic.

He turns his head to watch Arata sleep, noting how the redhead's bare chest rises and falls slowly. It seems like he won't be waking anytime soon. From everything that happened yesterday, the redhead must be really tired.

He caresses a stray hair away from Arata's forehead, watching. The warm and fuzzy feeling he had earlier is now overpowered by another emotion that he dislikes the most.

Guilt.

He sighs.

He can't do this to Arata. He can't be this selfish. The reason why he did nothing about his feelings up until now was because he was too focused on Arata's amnesia. He thought it would be selfish of him, so very selfish to date Arata when the redhead does not know of the past they shared together.

He thought maybe if after Arata remembered and forgave him, maybe only then would he act on his feelings… But even then, who can guarantee that would have happened? Even everything that happened yesterday, he didn't see any of them coming.

His life is just a wild turn of events.

The blond holds his head. "What am I going to do now…?" he whispers to himself, the pain of the guilt eating at him like an uninvited parasite. He… He can't go on like this, with this heavy secret inside of him that he wants to get rid of so badly. But he can't tell Arata either. Not when things have escalated this far. He should have told him long ago, back when they first met each other once more.

So… what is there for him to do?

He looks at Arata. The swell of warmth in his heart grows, but so does the prickling guilt.

_There's one thing I can do._

He pushes himself off the bed, slowly, carefully. He doesn't want to wake Arata up. Not now. This is his chance. He gathers up his clothes, face slightly red as the memories of last night flash through his mind. He shuts them out immediately.

He shuts the door behind him gently and takes light steps towards his own room. Throwing his clothes on his own bed, he decides to risk a quick shower. It takes a little bit longer than he had intended because of the mess Arata made of him.

As he dries his hair with a towel and dresses himself, he hastily takes out all the clothes in his closet—piling all of them on his bed. He begins collecting his belongings on the bed too, from the small decorations to the novels he actually enjoys rereading over and over again. He grabs everything in his sight, managing to not dwell on them for long.

He makes for his CCM and dials a number. It takes a moment for the other end to pick up.

" _Hello?"_

"Hello. Haruki, it's me."

" _Oh, hey, what's up?"_

"Can you come over with your car?"

" _Right now?"_  Haruki sounds incredulous.

"Yes, right now."

" _What's wrong? Did something happen?"_  now he sounds worried.

"Call me again when you're here, I'll tell you then. Do  _not_  honk."

And he hangs up.

He doesn't realize his breathing is erratic.

The blond continues with his cleaning, keeping his CCM in the pocket of his pants on vibrate. He manages to find unused boxes they were planning on throwing away in the kitchenette and moves all his items into them. He works quickly but quietly, occasionally checking his watch to look at the time. It's almost noon.

He leaves the door to his room open as he carries two boxes to the front door and leaves them outside. He does the same with another three larger boxes and lastly two bags of his clothes. He notices how much his belongings have accumulated since last year. It's probably because he haphazardly packed everything instead of organizing them so it's taking up more space. He wonders if he should just throw some away.

Before he can ponder on that thought any longer, his CCM vibrates and he jumps. He answers the call without looking at the ID. "Just wait there, I'll come down."

He takes the two small boxes with him first, closing the door to the apartment slowly. With quick steps he somehow manages to climb down the stairs without much trouble. He sees Haruki, his car parked on the side of the road and he's leaning against the hood with crossed arms. When he notices the blond and the boxes he raises his eyebrows quizzically.

He's not going to let Haruki ask anything.

"I still have some more upstairs, come on." He places the boxes in the backseat of the car.

Haruki grabs his shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asks with his voice stern.

He purses his lips. He doesn't look into Haruki's eyes as he pushes the hand away and walks past the other. "Questions come later."

He can hear Haruki sighing and following behind him.

Haruki takes two of the big boxes and he's left with his two bags of clothes and the last box. He ushers for Haruki to go first, he wants to see if there's anything left in his room or anything of his in the living room. He walks into his room and isn't surprised at how empty it looks. The only thing out of place is how messy the bed sheets are. He thinks about fixing it but he doesn't want to waste anymore time.

He closes the door as he walks out and he looks at the door to Arata's room. It's still shut, so he thinks the redhead is still asleep. He almost makes way towards it. He wants to open it, to look at Arata's sleeping face again. To climb back into that bed where it will most definitely be warm because of Arata, compared to his surroundings where it's cold.

He takes a deep breath, pulls away his shaking hands, and leaves the apartment.

He manages, somewhat, to carry all his belongings down—albeit he took slow steps. When he drops off his luggage in Haruki's car, he makes way for Baa-chan's door. He knocks and when she opens he apologizes for disturbing her.

He tells her how he has to leave, and he apologizes again because it's so sudden, and that he'll still be in town for a few days to sign the papers. He says that he already has his things. He also tells her not to tell Arata that if he ever asks. She asks him what's wrong and he tells her something came up, an emergency.

She doesn't look like she buys it.

"Did you have a fight with Arata-kun?"

"W-What? N-No, of course not."

She stares at him from behind her glasses, the cup of tea in her hand forgotten. She's staring for so long he's beginning to sweat and it feels like forever before she sighs and nods her head. "Okay, I'll expect to see you to sign the papers tomorrow."

He nods at her gratefully.

"Take care of yourself." She says.

He nods again in response. "Take care of yourself too."

Hastily he walks towards Haruki's car, with the man waiting in the driver's seat. He gets in and tells the other it's okay to drive now. Haruki obeys.

They turn a corner when Haruki speaks. "Now will you tell me what's going on?"

The blond, looking out the window, feels the prickle of tears in his eyes.

Even he doesn't know what's going on.


End file.
